Pretty is as Pretty Dies (A Myrtle Clover Mystery) (9 page)

"She wouldn't find that suspicious?" asked Perkins.

"Ordinarily she's sharp as a tack. But she's so caught up with
detective work that she probably won't even see that we're laying a
trap for her. She'll just be pleased as punch that she's got something to help her crack the case" Red glanced at his watch. "We'd
better head over there. She's like clockwork with this errand and
she's probably wrapping things up. We need to catch her before
she gets to the checkout line."

Myrtle's cart was half-f as she frowned in concentration at the
cereal selection. Where was the oatmeal? Just plain oatmeal? Good
Lord, no wonder all the kids today couldn't sit still in classrooms.
Forget ADHD, it was sugary cereal! Frosted Cocoa Crispy Puffs?
Myrtle shook her head and rounded the aisle. She was horrified to
see Erma Sherman in the produce section. She had just pulled a
single banana off a bunch and was now working on removing a
single strand of grapes from a large bunch. Myrtle backed up,
looking for an escape route, but Erma had already spotted her. She
charged up, pushing her shopping cart aggressively in front of her.

"Myrtle! Good to see you! Actually, it's good just to be out,
considering I've been under the weather a little..." Erma, relentless invader of personal space, maneuvered her cart alongside
Myrtle's and peered curiously into her cart.

"Sorry to hear that, Erma. I hate to cut this short, but I don't
want to keep you..."

"Oh, you're not keeping me at all. I have lots of time right
now.

Dear God.

"I was having these horrible pains, Myrtle. After I ate, mostly,
but sometimes when I lay down."

Myrtle began to fervently wish Elaine had already bought her
new cell phone for her. Cell phone rings nag you at the most convenient times sometimes.

"My dear mother, Lucia, had the same problem. And my mother's sister, too. My mother's sister had seven children. Seven! Can
you believe it?"

Should she feign illness? No, Erma would probably follow her
to the restroom, detailing more stomach and intestinal complaints.

"And my first cousin's child, well, she must be forty now. Imagine that. Forty! She called me the other day..."

Myrtle startled at the abrupt bleating of a cell phone. Had a
new phone teleported into her pocketbook from sheer longing?
Then she saw Erma fumbling in her carry-on-sized pocketbook
for her phone and Myrtle edged away from her. Myrtle gave a
quick wave to the now-absorbed Erma. She wondered who would
voluntarily sacrifice their morning for a conversation with Erma
Sherman.

Myrtle decided to cut her losses and escape from the store while
she still could. Besides, Red or Elaine would be by soon to drive her
and her groceries home. Their lives were all bound up in these little
routines that rarely changed. Myrtle walked to the store in good
weather at 9:30 every Wednesday. Red or Elaine picked her up at
10:15 and drove her home. Her watch told her it was slightly past
time-no surprise, considering Erma's determination to detail her
deteriorating health.

Red and Lieutenant Perkins had already established themselves
in the condiments aisle and watched Myrtle hurry in their direction toward the checkout line. Red started talking loudly and Myrtle stopped, creeping closer to the end of the aisle.

"Perkins, you find that creamer you wanted for the coffeemaker
at the station? Mama should be about ready to go. We're going to
interview that possible informant?"

"Yes, let's get some questions ready when we get back to the
station. But I don't think we'll get around to visiting him today;
it'll probably be tomorrow. What was this fellow's name again?"

"Crazy Dan. He runs the hubcap and peanut stand out that
rural route," Red helpfully pointed out.

"Right. It really sounds like he might have some important information. Well, let's find your mother and go check out."

Flustered, Myrtle whipped the cart around, only to see Erma
Sherman wrapping up her cell phone conversation. In a panic now,
she hurried toward the back of the store and the meat counter to
approach Red and Perkins from the back. Crazy Dan? What on
earth could he contribute to a murder investigation? At least she'd
gotten a tip from them, finally. She greeted the two men distractedly, not noticing them wink at each other.

Myrtle was so preoccupied on the drive home, it barely registered when Red handed her the new cell phone that Elaine had
picked up for her. But she did notice that Red seemed a little
grumpier than usual, and it couldn't be just because of her. She offered up a couple of chatty lines of conversation, only to have them
greeted with grunts. Finally, Red spoke his mind. "Mama, I have an
awful feeling you want to get involved in this murder investigation.
It sure looked like you'd been nosing around the crime scene."

"As I told you, I just made sure Parke didn't need medical treatment. It seems to me, though, that you'd be interested in hearing
my ideas on the murder-"

"You shouldn't be having any ideas! You should just be sitting
on your screened porch with a good book, or watching soap operas and fussing over the crazy story lines." His voice grew softer.
"You've had great ideas your whole life. Why not just chill out for a while? You could be like Nero Wolfe and mull the case while you
harvest your tomatoes in the backyard. Then you can share your
insights with me."

When Myrtle didn't budge, he sighed. Besides," he added grimly,
"I've got my hands full enough as it is. Between a murder investigation and hosting a French exchange student, life is out of control."

Myrtle shifted uneasily and fiddled with the seat belt. She was
the one who'd suggested that they host the exchange student.
Months ago, Myrtle witnessed Elaine's uncharacteristic meltdown
directly following a powerful toddler tantrum. "I'm not just a bottom-swabber ... a boo-boo kisser, you know," she'd fumed.

Myrtle had gotten distracted, as usual. "Excellent use of kennings, Elaine. Very clever."

"What?"

"Kennings, Elaine. You remember ... the Anglo-Saxon poetry
device ... you know... whale's way?" Elaine looked blank. "Another
way of saying `the sea'? From Beowulf?"

"Going back to my rant..."

"Sorry, Elaine. You're right, of course. You're much more than
that."

"Anyway, you've effectively illustrated that I've forgotten 90
percent of everything I learned in school. I don't remember basic
French, Myrtle. I can't even conjugate a verb! And I was a French
major."

She sounded so dejected that Myrtle dreamed up the idea of
Red and Elaine hosting a French exchange student. It would give
her a chance to practice French and experience another world
without leaving her home and her mothering duties. And it had
seemed to have helped Elaine at first. She'd at least seemed happy, despite spewing out miserably unintelligible French at the poor
student.

"How is Jean-Marc?" Myrtle delicately asked Red.

Red snorted. "Jean-Marc is just fine, but every appliance in our
house is on the blink. He tinkers with everything and everything
he touches bites the dust. Our house is an appliance graveyard."

Myrtle snickered and Red said, "Don't think it's so funny,
Mama. He wants to pilot the boat next."

"Well, it's not my boat anymore. It's yours. It just happens to be
docked at my house, that's all."

"You won't feel that way when he plows that boat through the
dock and up into your yard."

"There you go-exaggerating again, Red. He's doing Elaine a
world of good-mark my words. She was stuck in a rut. `The problem that has no name,' or whatever. Now she's speaking French,
and feeling connected to the wide, wonderful world out there."
"

I know a smattering of French, Mama, and I don't think that's
what Elaine is speaking. Jean-Marc pounds his head when she talks
to him."

"She'll improve with practice, Red."

He shrugged and Myrtle said, "She was in this domestic funk.
It's hard you know-white loads and dark loads and ring around
the collar. Wiping off sticky baby faces. She wanted a chance to
exercise her brain." Just like me, thought Myrtle glumly.

"Therapy would have been cheaper. We'll be up to our necks
wading around in broken DVD players, lawn mowers, cars, and
boats. I can't wait to ship him back to France." A disbelieving note
crept into his voice. "He was swigging a glass of my chardonnay in
the kitchen the other night!"

"Well, he's sixteen, after all."

"Drinking age is twenty-one, Mama."

"Not in France, it's not. He's probably used to drinking a glass
of wine with dinner."

"I'm the police chief. I can't be aiding and abetting an underage drinker in my own house!"

"But Elaine is polishing her French and expanding her world
view. He's good for her."

"Funny that what's good for Elaine is so rotten for me," he responded glumly.

As soon as Red dropped her off at the house and carried her groceries in, she tried to organize her thoughts. Who would she borrow
the car from? She still had her driver's license, with the new fifteenyear expiration date to cover her until her century-mark. But she'd
given up driving awhile back and had sold her car long ago. Elaine
wouldn't be sympathetic to her plight at all, and might even tell Red
what she was up to. Myrtle had soured on Elaine now that their
friendly talks were a thing of the past, what with Elaine's whirlwind
of a new life. Erma Sherman? She shuddered. Erma had actually offered her car to Myrtle before, but would she insist on going along
and helping her on whatever "errand" Myrtle cooked up?

Germs. That was a common thread in many of Erma's monologues. She loved to talk about her health problems, but was a ger-
maphobe. That could be Myrtle's ticket to ride. She picked up the
phone.

"Erma? Hi, it's Myrtle. You know, after I saw you at the grocery
store, I just started feeling awful. No, nothing like that, just this
stomach and intestinal thing. I was wondering if I could use your
car for a little while this afternoon and go to the doctor. I'd ask Red
or Elaine, but they're so busy today ... No, ordinarily it would be
great if you took me, but I'm afraid I'd give this to you ... and it's really awful. I feel wretched. Oh, thanks, Erma. I'll be right outside."

Myrtle heard a crash and looked out her window. A squirrel sat
on his haunches on her birdfeeder, casually munching the seed she'd
put out for the bluebirds. Myrtle banged on the window with her
fist and the squirrel turned its head, eyeing her curiously as it ate.
She yanked open the back door and waved her cane at it and it finally scurried off into Erma's yard. Typical. Erma had established a
sanctuary for the little rodents, stocked with nuts, corn, water, and
building supplies for their ratty-looking nests. She went to the Pig-
gly-Wiggly once a week for more food for her feral flock. Anybody
who fed squirrels on purpose had to be squirrelly too. The squirrel
sat at the edge of Myrtle's yard, watching the back door. As soon as
she was gone, it was going to hop back up and finish its lunch.

Myrtle thumped her way through the house and out the front
door. Erma was already outside, holding a plastic bag and her car
keys. One squirrel was a foot behind her in the driveway, and she
clucked to it and tossed it some peanuts. Another perched on the
top of her old Cadillac like a furry hood ornament.

She wiped off some of her makeup and mussed her hair a little
and stepped outside. She must have done a good job. Erma stayed
back and reached her arm way out to hand Myrtle the keys. "You
look awful. Do you think you need to upchuck?" She peered anxiously into Myrtle's face and Myrtle thought she might have to after all. "You're looking kind of green. Here's a bag in case you need to
throw up in the car. Good luck at the doctor." She paused and looked
at Myrtle uncertainly. "Have you ... um ... driven recently?"

"Certainly. Five years ago."

"That's recent?"

"Time is relative when you're my age. Don't worry-I've always
been an excellent driver."