A Body at Bunco (13 page)

“We’ve done a lot today. I’m ready to go home and put my feet up.”

Myrtle said, “You’re looking pale, Miles. And you’ve only pushed your salad around on your plate instead of eating it. Do you think it’s possible that this isn’t merely your hypochondria at work but an actual virus?”

But now Miles appeared to be in denial. “I’m absolutely fine. I simply need to catch up on some sleep, that’s all. I slept horribly last night. And you probably turned in later than you wanted to.”

“Right. But I’m feeling fine,” she said as she polished off the rest of her food.

Miles looked past Myrtle’s shoulder. “Oh no. Looks as if we’re about to have more company,” he murmured.

“Who?”

“Tippy Chambers and Blanche Clark,” said Miles with a groan. “I hate to be impolite, but I really need to get back home.”

“Well, don’t be a baby about it. I’ll tell them that you’ve got a pressing engagement. Here’s some money for my food. While you’re paying up front, I’ll get rid of them and meet you at your car.”

Miles, determinedly pretending not to see or hear the women’s approach, bolted for the cash register with the two bills and Myrtle’s money. Myrtle shook her head. Men certainly didn’t handle being sick well. The few times that Myrtle was under the weather, she was a complete stoic about it.

An arm slid around her neck as she was briefly hugged by Tippy Chambers. Tippy was dressed as if she were about to address the stockholders at an annual meeting…but since she always dressed that way, she didn’t look a bit out of place in the diner. Her friend, Blanche Clark, was similarly outfitted except that her look was that of carefully preserved designer clothes.

“Myrtle, I’m so glad to see you,” said Tippy. “I was just filling Blanche in on the events at your Bunco night. So tragic. And so worrisome to think that there was a murder taking place just yards away! I feel as if I didn’t thank you properly for hosting. Honestly, I was so bewildered by Luella’s passing that I completely forgot my manners. I’m so sorry.”

Myrtle liked Tippy. She approved of the briskly businesslike way she’d run everything from book club to garden club. Myrtle had respect for efficiency. The only problem was that whenever she was around Tippy, she felt as if she had a food stain on her blouse or something caught in her teeth. There was that generally disheveled feeling that occurred merely by being in proximity to Tippy’s perfection. The only thing she could think of that Tippy should improve was her ability to say no to Puddin who trapped her in long-winded conversations.

Blanche said, “I was appalled. … truly appalled to hear the news. I’m so sorry, Miss Myrtle.”

“That’s kind of both of you,” said Myrtle. “But as you can see, I’ve fully recovered.” To the extent that she was able to polish off a plate of pimento cheese dogs and chili fries. At her age, death had lost its ability to shock.

Blanche gave a small cough and Tippy made a smooth segue. “Speaking of appalling…well, this isn’t nearly in the same category, of course. But it’s something that’s startled and worried both Blanche and me and so I wanted to take the opportunity to mention it to you since we’ve run into you here.”

Now Myrtle was concerned.
Did
she have something caught in her teeth?

“It’s about the newspaper,” said Tippy. “The
Bradley Bugle
.”

Myrtle relaxed and let out the pent-up breath she’d been holding. “Oh, that.”

Tippy and Blanche seemed to relax too, at Myrtle’s casual tone. Blanche said quickly, “It’s only that we know you spend a good deal of time there and are connected with the editor. We thought Sloan Jones might listen to you more than he’d listen to a couple of subscribers.”

“You’re concerned about the paper’s content, I’m guessing?” asked Myrtle. She noticed that Miles had finished paying up and was heading out the door.

“That’s right,” said Tippy. “You see, we really
liked
the Good Neighbors column.”

Blanche said, “And I enjoyed hearing about Cheryl and Randy Peterson’s trip to the Grand Canyon in the People section.”

“And the Rogers boy getting his Eagle Scout award,” added Tippy.

“Even the horoscope,” said Blanche with a shrug of her thin shoulders. “I miss that, too.”

Tippy said, “The tone of the paper seems to have changed, too. Where it was light-hearted and chatty, it’s now sort of…sensationalistic.” She said the word as if it tasted bad.

Blanche leaned forward and said in a low tone as if speaking of a sacrilege, “And the typos and misspellings are terrible, Miss Myrtle. Really horrible.”

This last part was the worst and Myrtle put a hand to her heart as if receiving a mortal blow. “You both know that I have nothing whatsoever to do with the editing of the newspaper, don’t you?”

“Naturally,” said Tippy briskly. “If you did, the editing would be flawless.”

Blanche gave an emphatic nod.

“We don’t want to hold you up—I saw Miles leave. But we didn’t want to let the opportunity pass without saying that we were worried about the direction the newspaper is moving in,” said Tippy.

Myrtle, who’d been sitting in a booth for long enough, pushed up on the table to try to slide over and stand. Tippy solicitously moved over to support her arm. “Thank you ladies,” said Myrtle. “I’ll be sure to share your thoughts with Sloan.

“Perhaps, though, as your own thoughts,” advised Tippy. “Only if you agree with us.”

“Of course,” said Myrtle a little absently. “The only problem is that he’s convinced himself that this is the best way to win readers.”

“I’m sure he’ll find it’s the opposite,” said Blanche with a regretful shake of her head.

Myrtle suddenly had a marvelous idea. “This will sound like I’ve abruptly switched subjects, but do either of you see car shopping in your immediate future?”

Blanche shook her head. Tippy said, “Not for me. But Benton has mentioned replacing his sedan. In fact, I think he was going to start shopping around tomorrow.”

Myrtle said, “Tell him that if he goes to Roger’s Automotive to be sure and mention that he’ll only give them his business if they continue advertising with the
Bradley Bugle
.”

Tippy nodded slowly. “I see. So it’s a question of losing advertising dollars—this change of approach for the newspaper.”

“That’s right. And be sure to mention that whenever you hear of someone who might be shopping locally,” said Myrtle.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Tippy. And she had that steely look in her eye that indicated she meant every word.

“And now I have to catch up with my ride,” said Myrtle.

“Tell Miles we said hi,” said Blanche with a smile as a waitress approached to show them to a table.

Chapter Ten

As Myrtle walked outside, she saw Miles slumping against his Volvo looking even greener than he had earlier. “Miles! Are you all right?”

“I’m…not so well. And my car won’t run.”

Myrtle said, “Won’t
run
? The engine won’t turn over, you mean?”

“No, I mean that it won’t drive me anywhere. The transmission has been slipping some lately. I’ve been good about having the transmission fluid serviced, but there still have been issues.”

Myrtle’s forte was not automobiles, and as usual, she tuned out the specifics as soon as Miles launched into them. “So, what’s the bottom line here, Miles? That the car won’t take us home?”

“That’s right. Because the gears won’t shift at all. The transmission is shot. We’ll be walking home.” He gave the car a dirty look. “I knew this was going to happen one day, I just wish it had happened in my driveway. And when I wasn’t feeling ill.”

Myrtle said, “So you need a tow, I suppose. And then you’ll get it repaired?”

“No, I think the part is probably worth more than the car at this point. I’ve had the Volvo for a while now. I’ll likely just get something new. But no more Volvos. They seem to stand out here. However, I certainly
don’t
want a truck, which seems to be the official vehicle of the town of Bradley.” Miles’s voice was fretful.

How fortuitous that everyone was going car shopping! Myrtle planned on steering him toward Roger’s Automotive when it was time for him to shop. But now he clearly needed to get some sleep. She reached out and briskly laid her hand on Miles’s forehead. “You’re burning up, Miles! Let’s start walking home. Maybe we can hitch you a ride on the way and get you there faster.”

“It’s not as if it’s far,” said Miles.

“Right. But it’s going to feel far in your condition. Let’s go.”

As they were walking slowly toward home, Myrtle leaning on her cane as she supported Miles with her free arm, Sloan Jones from the paper drove up from behind them in his old pickup truck. Myrtle immediately flagged him down and he rolled down his window. “Sloan, we need a favor. Could you drop us back home? Miles isn’t feeling well and his car has broken down.”

Sloan looked as if he wished that he could wear a protective suit and mask. He hesitated before quickly saying, “Of course, Miss Myrtle. Hop on in.”

Although Miles was able to climb rather nimbly into the cab of the truck, Myrtle had the distinct impression that her own ascent would be problematic. This was one unfortunate issue that occurred to a person in his or her eighties. “Never mind about me. I’m going to walk off those pimento cheese dogs. But Sloan…could you run by my house for a minute after you drop off Miles? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Now Sloan’s face was even more dismayed than it had been at the prospect of riding next to germ-ridden Miles. “Of course, Miss Myrtle. See you then. Will you … well … will you be home by the time I drive there?”

She leveled a haughty look at him. “I’ll most certainly beat you there. I’m quite fleet of foot.”

He glanced doubtfully at her cane, but then hastily said, “Okay. In a minute then.”

And there was nothing left for Myrtle to do but scamper home just as fast as she could.

Myrtle was huffing and puffing as she reached her front door. She rummaged around in her pocketbook until she felt her keys. She was just reaching the key toward the lock when it suddenly swung open, startling her enough to make her step backward.

It was an apologetic Elaine with a squeaky-clean looking Jack. “Myrtle, I’m so sorry. I tried to call you, but you must have your cell phone turned off.”

Myrtle guiltily recalled that it was inside her desk in the house. “No worries, Elaine. I guess the battery must have died. Or something.”

Elaine nodded absently, frowning in concern. “Myrtle, you sound really out of breath. Are you okay?”

“Fine, just fine! I was simply having a brisk walk, you see. Getting a little exercise. Sloan Jones is about to stop by to talk with me about the paper, too, so I wanted to beat him back home.”

Elaine said, “Jack and I were just using your bathroom. Since, well, we don’t have any working plumbing right now. I’m sorry. It’s not the first time today, either—we’ve been sort of in and out.”

“Oh, please! No problem at all. I was planning to check in with you and see how things were going over there,” said Myrtle. She felt a twinge of guilt again. Her investigating, Wanda-visiting and diner-eating had hijacked her day.

Elaine forced a brave smile. “I think the plumbing ordeal is the kind of thing that gets worse before it gets better. At least, I hope that’s true. Right now we seem like we’re in the worst of it. But at least Jack is clean now.” She hesitated. “I think Red is coming by later to get cleaned up. And there’s the washing machine, too—I’m afraid I’m going to have to come by and do some laundry.”

Myrtle said, still rather breathlessly, “Of course you should. In fact, why don’t you bring the laundry and we’ll let Jack nap here and you and I can watch
Tomorrow’s Promise
together. I taped it.”

Elaine raised her eyebrows. “That sounds great, but what about Miles? Isn’t he usually your soap opera buddy? I don’t want to step on any toes.”

“He’s indisposed,” said Myrtle, making a face. “Not feeling well in the slightest. And he appears to be a truly ghastly patient, from what I can see. Most men are. I think you’re a much better soap opera buddy prospect today.” She drank from a glass of water she’d filled earlier that day. Maybe she needed to walk briskly more often.

“It’s a plan, then,” said Elaine, beaming. Then she hesitated. “Not to get into your business, Myrtle, but you might want to stick your list of suspects in a drawer before Red pops by. You know how frazzled he gets when he thinks you’re investigating murders.”

“Good point,” said Myrtle. She was putting the paper away as Elaine and Jack left.

Myrtle was still trying to catch her breath when there was a light tap at her front door. She took another quick gulp of water and headed to the door. Myrtle leaned against it for a second, taking another couple of deep breaths before opening it. “What took you so long?” she asked Sloan breezily.

He gave her an admiring look as he walked into her living room. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Miss Myrtle. You’re speedy. I would have probably had a heart attack if I’d tried to walk home that fast.”

Myrtle silently agreed. Sloan, not particularly slim, was huffing and puffing from just walking from his truck to her living room.

Sloan shifted his weight a bit. “So…what can I do for you, Miss Myrtle?” Before she could answer, he brightened up. “Oh! I meant to tell you that I got the article you emailed me. It was very good. I mean, I did have to spice up the verbs some, but other than that, it was absolutely perfect as-is. I’ll run it tomorrow morning.”

“Spice them up? My verbs were quite robust, I assure you, Sloan. In fact, I thought they needed toning down.”

Sloan seemed excited by the topic and waved his fleshy hands around emphatically as he spoke. “Vibrant writing, Miss Myrtle. I’m really looking for some very vibrant writing for the paper. I want reading the
Bradley Bugle
to be a transformative experience for our readers. I want them to look forward to every edition because it
transports
them somewhere.”

“It sounds as if they only want to be transported to the little league game and the Girl Scout cookie booth to me Sloan. I spoke with two avid readers of the paper just minutes ago and they said they miss the old stories—the small town tidbits. The stuff that readers can’t get from the
Charlotte Observer
…local happenings. That sort of thing.” Myrtle was getting the feeling that things were much worse than she’d thought. Apparently Sloan had taken complete leave of his senses.