Death at a Drop-In (9 page)

“Joan is upset?”  Erma snorted.  “By the way, are you covering this for the
Bugle
?  I know you’ve done crime stories for them in the past.”

The faux-innocent look on her face told Myrtle that Erma knew about the new reporter.  Myrtle wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of feeling like she knew more about the situation than Myrtle did.  Although Erma likely did.

“Well, there’s a cub reporter working on the story.  I don’t know if we can even call her a reporter since she’s not being paid.  She’s an intern, I suppose. I’ll write my in-depth coverage— my exposé—and she’ll write up the basic news article with the who-what-when-where-why-how,” said Myrtle.  “Sloan naturally trusts me with the bigger, investigative stories. The intern can cover the factual account.”

“You’re being very generous about it,” said Erma with her sneering smile. “I’ve heard that she’s quite the hot-shot.  Very young, smart, pretty, and active.  A rising star.”

The only part of those adjectives that stung was the
active
.  Myrtle was extraordinarily active, but always had to have the addendum “for her age” attached to the word.  “Sloan has had new, hot-shot reporters before,” she reminded Erma.  “They didn’t go well.” 

“Sloan has her all over town looking for stories.  I’ve seen her snapping photos all over town. He told me that she has a nose for news.”

Myrtle said, “She’ll have to in this town.  Usually, news in Bradley consists of Georgia Summers finally taking down her Christmas decorations in July or that Ralph Morris plans on planting beans instead of tomatoes in his garden this year.”

Erma apparently wasn’t getting the kind of reaction she was hoping for.  She returned to the murder.  “Since you discovered the body and are doing the story and everything, I’ve got a tidbit to help you out.”

“What’s that?” asked Myrtle.  Although she couldn’t stand Erma and avoided her at every possible opportunity, she knew the woman did pick up a lot of gossip.  It must have something to do with the large ears situated near the top of her head.

“A couple of weeks ago, I’d run by Cosette’s house to pick up something for our garden club meeting.”

Myrtle darkly considered Erma’s crabgrass situation.  Perhaps she should dig up a sample and show it to Erma’s garden club.

Erma blithely ignored Myrtle’s thunderous expression.  “While I was in Cosette’s house, there was this wild knocking on the door.  Cosette yanked it open, and there was Sybil.  An absolutely furious Sybil.  She started shrieking at Cosette and calling her very rude names.  But she stopped short as soon as she caught sight of me.  She shot Cosette a death glare, gave me a not-very-nice look, and stormed off.”

Myrtle said, “You have no idea why she was upset?”

“Not a bit, since all she was doing was name-calling.  But Cosette seemed to know.  Her face was real pinched and she slammed the door behind Sybil.  I got out of there fast, let me tell you.”

Suddenly, Erma blanched even paler than she usually was and her lips drew back in a snarl.  Startled, Myrtle looked behind her and saw Pasha, her feral cat, standing close beside her and glaring menacingly at Erma.  The cat was completely wild and hated everyone it laid eyes on except for Myrtle, alternately lunging at them and giving them death glares.

It adored Myrtle, however, which Myrtle had long ago convinced herself had nothing to do with the cans of cat food she lavished on the creature. Pasha would come in Myrtle’s house and visit as long as Myrtle left a window cracked for her to escape when she wanted to.  Everyone told Myrtle that Pasha, as a feral animal, would never behave as a real pet, couldn’t be tamed, and wouldn’t be good company for her in any way—that she should leave it to its own devices outside and not encourage it.  Myrtle decided they didn’t know what they were talking about, since Pasha was always a perfect love with her.

Erma, on the other hand, was no favorite of Pasha’s.  Erma also had a vicious allergy to all cats, particularly Pasha.  This made Myrtle love Pasha even more.

Without saying goodbye, Erma stumbled off the stepladder and hightailed it through her back door.

“Kitty, kitty,” called Myrtle tenderly, and Pasha bounded after her into the house. This time Myrtle decided a special treat was in order, and she bypassed the bag of dry kibbles for a can of premium albacore tuna.

Chapter Eight

The next morning, Myrtle sat at her breakfast table with a bowl of bran cereal, coffee, and a small notepad.  She’d learned in the past that she needed to think about her investigating in an organized way.  Thinking about the case, she figured that she needed to speak with Lucas pretty soon.  He was, after all, the prime suspect.  Perhaps fluffy Aunt Hazel would need to return to Charlotte at some point and Myrtle would get more of an opportunity to talk to him.

Today was the day that Joan was dropping Noah off so that she could help her father go through her mother’s things.  Myrtle realized she’d forgotten to call Elaine and ask if she’d like to drop Jack off at the same time so the two boys could have a play date.  She squinted at her rooster wall clock.  Eight o’clock.  Elaine was surely up by now.  Myrtle picked up her phone.

Elaine
was
up.  In fact, she might have been up for the last few hours since she was already sounding tired.  “Myrtle? What’s up?”

Myrtle heard what sounded like loud singing in the background.  “Is that Jack?”

“Oh, he learned
London Bridge
at preschool yesterday and now he’s singing it over and over,” said Elaine with a slightly hysterical laugh. 

“That’s nice,” said Myrtle, not entirely sure that it was.

“Is it?” asked Elaine, not sure herself.   “No, Jack.  Eat your cereal—don’t play with it.”

Jack, ordinarily an exemplary toddler, sounded like he might be having an unusual day.  Myrtle reassessed the situation.  Did she really want
two
small boys in her small home this afternoon?  But, as she remembered from many decades ago after her husband had passed away and she was rearing Red alone, it was easier in many ways to watch two children than one. They entertained each other.  “Elaine, I’m watching Noah for Joan today.  I thought you might want to bring Jack by and have some time for yourself.”  There.  It was done and there was no going back now.

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Myrtle heard Jack saying, “Ka-boom!  Ka-boom!”  in the background.  It was accompanied by the sound of some sort of object hitting Elaine’s kitchen floor.

Then Elaine said, “Are you sure?  Jack seems to have an excessive amount of energy today.  Are you sure you want to watch
two
preschool-age boys?”

The doubt and concern in Elaine’s voice made Myrtle even more convinced that not only
could
she do it, but that it was what she wanted most in the world at that moment.  “Elaine, I’m positive.  Jack is always as good as gold whenever he’s with his Nana.  And Noah, from everything I’ve heard, is a prodigy of some sort. Prodigies should be a breeze to watch.”

There was a whooping on the other end of the line as Jack cheered over some unknown, unseen outcome in Elaine’s kitchen.  Elaine gave a deep sigh.

Myrtle said, “Look, you clearly need a break today.  Think what you could do.  You could run a Jack-free errand.  You could tidy up Jack’s room without him pulling out toys just as fast as you put them away.  You could
knit
.  You could….”

“Take a nap?” asked Elaine wryly.

“Naps are good, too.  So may I borrow Jack for a while?  It will actually help me out.  Noah might get bored with only me to entertain him.  And we know what happens when little boys get bored,” said Myrtle.

There was a crashing sound in the background and Elaine said tersely, “I’ve got to go, Myrtle.  Thanks for the offer.  I’ll drop him over soon.  Call me if you have any trouble with him today and need to be rescued.”

“Eleven-thirty, Elaine.  Thanks.”  Myrtle put down the phone.  She knew one thing—she sure wasn’t going to be calling Elaine if she ended up in over her head.  Not with all that doubt and concern in Elaine’s voice, she wouldn’t.  Besides, these were small boys, and Myrtle had a lifetime of experience and wisdom to draw from.  Everything would be fine.

Everything was not fine.  It may have started out all right.  Jack settled in nicely when Elaine brought him by.  Then Joan showed up about twenty minutes later.  She’d said chirpily, “You’re so sweet to do this, Miss Myrtle.  Dad is in such a state, and I know that clearing away some of Mother’s things will do him a world of good.  Noah has been very happy today, so I hope he won’t be a handful.”  She gave Myrtle her cell phone number in case of any problems and she headed for the door.

Myrtle pressed her lips together.  She’d hoped to have had a chance to talk to Joan before she’d run off.  She’d have to try to talk to her when she came for pick-up.

Noah watched with interest as his mother stooped to wave goodbye.  He
did
seem to be in excellent spirits.  Myrtle beamed at him.  “Hi Noah!  Are you ready to have some fun? Jack is so excited about playing with you.”

Noah looked at Myrtle, looked on as Jack played with a truck that Myrtle was to learn later would be a bone of contention between the two boys, and started a howling wail that made both Jack and Myrtle gape at him.

“I know what let’s do!” said Myrtle, determined not to adopt an air of desperation this early in the process, “Let’s have some milk and cookies!”

She knew the gambit would work, at least for a little while.  Although she hated the way she felt like Hazel Whitlow while doing it.

The snack did work, but didn’t last nearly long enough.  Next, she pulled out some printer paper and old crayons and let them color.  She’d forgotten, though, that this age group’s idea of coloring was to scribble on a piece of paper for a couple of minutes before being ready to move on to something else.

They did play for a few minutes together—a few minutes of creative play with a blessed lack of conflict.  That period was short-lived, however, when Noah decided to enact a hijacking and claim Jack’s truck.  Although Joan had sent Noah with a basket full of what were allegedly his favorite toys, he wanted nothing to do with any of them—he was quite vehement about that.

Wasn’t Noah supposed to be a boy genius?  Isn’t that what Cosette had been so determined to impart to everyone whenever she came across them?  “Want to show me what you know about French, Noah?” she asked brightly.  Noah only cried harder.

Myrtle checked the clock.  An hour-and-a-half to go.  “How about some more cookies?” she asked, already pulling out the cookie jar again.  She needed to buy some time until she could figure out what to do.

Miles.  She could call Miles and get him to come over and help her out.  She picked up the phone, but then hesitated.  He’d never come over if he thought he was going to help her babysit. She thought it over and picked up the phone again.

“Miles.  Hey.  Do you think you could come by?  Now.  That’s right. I just wanted to tell you what I found out from Erma.  No, I’d rather talk about it in person. I’ll tell you why when you get here.”  She hung up, hoping that she’d sounded mysterious enough to lure him over.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang and Myrtle smiled.  Miles stood on her doorstep, squinting quizzically.  “So what’s going on?  You’re not thinking your phones are bugged are you?  Because that’s kind of paranoid, if you are.”

Myrtle said archly, “I’m thinking that I’m about eighty years older than my guests.  And feeling it.  I could use a hand.”

She stepped to the side to reveal the two little boys sitting at her kitchen table.

“Oh no,” said Miles.  “Babysitting wasn’t on my agenda today.”

“Can’t you add it on there? And I can fill you in on what I’m thinking about the case so far.”

The boys picked that moment to finish eating and immediately proceeded to start chasing each other like wild things around Myrtle’s small living room.

Miles wore an assessing look.  “Sugar?  You gave them sugar, Myrtle?”

“Feeding them seemed like the best way to keep them occupied at the time,” said Myrtle with a shrug.

“Feeding them baby carrots with ranch dressing, maybe. Not sugar.”  With a put-upon expression, he walked to Myrtle’s television set and punched the power button. He flipped the channels on the remote until he got to public broadcasting, which was miraculously playing a cartoon of some sort.  Both boys ran over to plop on the floor in front of the set.

“
Voila
,” he said, raising his eyebrows.  “Magic.”

Myrtle frowned.  “Isn’t that cheating? Shouldn’t I be developing their minds and bodies and engaging them in creative pursuits?”

“At your age?  No way.  You’re doing enough simply by making sure they’re not destroying your stuff or setting the place on fire.  And once they get tired of the television, which will be a while, then we’ll crank
that
up,” he said nodding his head at Myrtle’s computer.

“Well, they’re certainly mesmerized, I’ll grant you that,” said Myrtle grudgingly.  The boys were practically frozen as they stared unblinkingly at the jolly animated dinosaur on the screen.  “Thank goodness you’re here.”

He followed her to the kitchen and sat where he still had a view of the boys.  “It’s not often I hear those words from you, Myrtle.”

Myrtle ignored that, bustling to the cabinet and fridge.  “Here’s your sweet tea. Now let’s go over the facts of this case before utter chaos descends again.”

She plopped down across from Miles and said, “Okay.  So, Erma was pointing her stubby finger at Sybil, saying she witnessed her shrieking at Cosette and calling her all sorts of names.”

“You’ve been talking with
Erma
?”

“Purely by accident,” said Myrtle with a sniff.

“Hmm. Well, Erma’s information does seem to jibe with what I’ve noticed about Sybil.”

Myrtle blinked at him.  “You’ve noticed something about Sybil?  Why on earth haven’t you told me that?  Especially since we saw that little scene with Sybil at Cosette’s party.”