A Body at Bunco (17 page)

A couple of minutes later, the woman handed Myrtle a cup.

“Here’s your friend’s tea,” she said. “And I’ll hold the door for you, since you’re juggling a cane and a cup.”

It was a bit of juggling. Although the cup did have a top on it, Myrtle still didn’t want to drop it on the ground and have the contents explode all over. It had certainly cost enough.

It was Myrtle’s complete absorption in the balancing act that prevented her from immediately noticing Poppy Dryden approaching the shop. In fact, it was Poppy who called out to her.

“Need help, Miss Myrtle?”

Although, as Myrtle raised her head to look up at Poppy, she could tell that Poppy was just being nice. Poppy actually appeared to be running late for something. Poppy’s general appearance was always a bit disheveled, but her mousy hair hadn’t even been combed this morning, as far as Myrtle could discern. “No thanks, Poppy. I can manage it. Where are you off to this morning?”

Poppy pouted. “Work. I watch a class at the church preschool until one. And this morning I’m running behind. I’m not the only teacher in the room, though, so it’s okay.”

Myrtle arranged her face in an appropriately solemn manner. “Have you heard the terrible news about Alma?”

Poppy looked startled. “What terrible news?”

“I’m afraid she’s dead.”

Poppy’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. “What?”

“Yes. Someone broke into her house and killed her in her own bed. A horrible business,” said Myrtle. She did feel very indignant about that part, too. One should feel safe in one’s own bed, certainly.

Poppy’s face was flushed with an unattractive blotchy stain. “I don’t understand it. What is going on in this town?” The hand covering her mouth dropped down to clutch her neck. “I don’t know if I even feel safe anymore.”

“You didn’t happen to see anything unusual near Alma’s house did you?” asked Myrtle.

Poppy said, “What do you mean? I wasn’t at Alma’s house yesterday.”

Myrtle said soothingly, “I know you had a very busy day yesterday, that’s all. I saw you at Bo’s Diner remember? What happened after that?”

Poppy gulped. Her eyes darted back and forth as she thought. “Let’s see. I took the takeout bag and then walked out the door to the parking lot.”

For heaven’s sake. Poppy really
would
be late if Myrtle got the blow-by-blow description of Poppy’s tiniest movements for the last eighteen hours. Myrtle interrupted her quickly. “I mean, what
in general
did you do after you left the diner?” Poppy paused and Myrtle said impatiently, “I’m assuming you drove over to Mimsy’s house, right? To deliver the hot food?”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Poppy, sounding relieved at having a clue how to answer. “I gave them the food and I visited for a little while. Then I had to get ready for work.”

“For work?” asked Myrtle. “But you said you worked at the preschool.”

“And I
do
,” said Poppy earnestly. “But I also wait tables at Geronimo’s.”

Geronimo’s was some sort of wings and beer joint that was in nearby Creighton. Actually, it wasn’t far from Wanda and Crazy Dan’s house. “How late did you work?” asked Myrtle curiously. “Maybe you saw something when you were leaving. Even if it doesn’t seem important.”

But Poppy was already shaking her head. “I’m sure I didn’t. I mean, I was so, so tired. I was just focused on my driving and getting home safely.” She swallowed, hard. “Do they have any idea who did it?”

Myrtle’s eyes automatically lifted to Poppy’s earlobes. Not only was Poppy not wearing earrings, she didn’t appear to have her ears pierced at all. “There’re working on it. Apparently, though, someone lost an earring in the process.”

Poppy knit her brows. “In the process?” she asked slowly. Myrtle wondered if she were slow, period. “You mean … during Alma’s …?”

“I’m afraid that’s right. In the process of her murder,” continued Myrtle smoothly. “Alma wasn’t an earring wearer. So it would appear that the person who lost an earring may either have some important information or may somehow be involved in this murder.”

Poppy opened and shut her mouth a few times, wordlessly. Finally, she said, “Or maybe it just means a visit. That the person was visiting Alma. Completely innocently.”

“In Alma’s bedroom?” asked Myrtle skeptically.

Poppy dropped her gaze. But what would Poppy have to be concerned about? She clearly wasn’t an earring wearer.

“Well,” Poppy said in a rush, “it was nice talking to you, Miss Myrtle. I’m late for work, as I said, so I should run.”

Myrtle stared after her as she rushed into the coffee shop. Late enough to rush but not too late for a coffee stop? Or was she merely trying to escape from Myrtle?

Chapter Thirteen

As Myrtle carefully carried the hot tea down the street, she heard another voice calling her name. But this time there was only one person in the world it could be. “Mama!” called the voice again, this time a little impatiently.

“Hi Red,” said Myrtle in a calm voice.

“Can I give you a ride?” he asked. He was leaning out of the window of his police cruiser. To be honest, although she’d always considered her son a handsome man, he had certainly looked better. The five o’clock shadow that he sometimes sported at the end of a day had entered into full-beard territory. His eyes were as red as his hair. And the smattering of wrinkles developing on his face were deep crevasses today. “And when I drop you off, maybe I can borrow your shower.”

“Most definitely,” said Myrtle, nose wrinkling a little. “But can you drop me by Miles’s house first? This is tea for him.” She got into the passenger seat of the cruiser and made sure to lean as far away from her son as possible.

Red seemed miles away and didn’t take notice of the slight. “Miles. Well, that’s very nice, Mama. Thinking of your friend like that.”

“I’m trying to rehabilitate him. He has some sort of vile virus. As a matter of fact, I’m taking him to the doctor in a little while,” said Myrtle.

Red drawled, “And he’s a good friend to trust you with driving his car.”

“Oh, his car is in the shop. Or should be in the shop. No, I’m borrowing Erma’s car.” She made a face as she said Erma’s name. It tasted foul in her mouth.

Red’s eyebrows shot up. “Miles really
must
be sick, if you’re reaching out to Erma. Hope he’s better soon.”

Myrtle coughed delicately. “I was wondering how
your
morning went, Red. With the murder of poor Alma, I mean. I suppose it
is
murder.” She added the last bit hastily, remembering that she really shouldn’t know so many details of Alma’s death.

He glanced at her sideways before directing his attention back on the road. “It is, yes. But nothing that concerns you.”

Myrtle laughed lightly. “Why, I didn’t say it concerned me. But it
concerns
me, in the other sense of the word. I’m worried about poor Alma and the rest of the ladies who were at my house the other night. Naturally…” she paused, “… did any of Alma’s neighbors hear anything unusual?”

“Before you start badgering the poor people, I’ll assure you they all slept like the dead last night,” said Red as he pulled up into Miles’s driveway.

Pooh. “Be right back out,” said Myrtle quickly as she climbed out of the car. She was so lost in her thoughts that she nearly rang the doorbell. Remembering herself in time, she peered through the window and saw Miles in his usual spot. In his normal, slumped pose.

She fumbled in her pocketbook with her one free hand until she got her keys. Myrtle opened the door and strode quickly over to Miles. “Here is some herbal tea,” she said briskly, making space on the end table next to Miles. There was no response from the slumped figure. “The tea should help settle your stomach.” No response. “I secured a car.” There might have been a brief fluttering of his closed eyelids. “We’re borrowing Erma’s car.”

Now Miles’s eyes flew open. They gazed in steady concern at Myrtle. “I must be hallucinating— not . Erma.”

Myrtle beamed at him. It was good that she didn’t have to check her friend’s pulse. That would have seemed rather intrusive. “Erma’s
car
. You’re right—if I’d said that Erma was going
with
us to see Doctor Phillips, that’s when you should have worried. We’re just borrowing that decrepit vehicle of hers. I’ll be back in a little while. Now I have to run. Red is waiting for me.”

As she got back into Red’s cruiser for the split-second ride back to her own house, Myrtle realized that perhaps Red was just as much of a hypochondriac as Miles was. “So what kind of vile virus is this, Mama? Bronchitis?” he asked hopefully.

“Bronchitis is an infection, not a virus,” said Myrtle.

“And not catching, either. Which is why I was hoping that’s what he has,” said Red.

“No, I’m afraid he’s got some sort of stomach virus. And now he’s reached the point where he may end up dehydrated if we don’t control his symptoms,” said Myrtle.

Red sighed as he pulled the car up into Myrtle’s driveway. “I have the sudden urge to wipe down the entire inside of this car with antibacterial wipes. You’re not going to get close enough to catch this thing, are you? I don’t think a virus like that would be good for you.”

“I have the constitution of a horse,” said Myrtle coldly. “And I’m not going to go gallivanting around catching viruses. I simply don’t have the time for one.”

Red showed remarkable reserve in not asking what was consuming all of Myrtle’s free time. “Okay. Well, at least wash your hands real well when you get inside. I packed a small bag in my car for this shower.”

Myrtle opened the passenger door. “I was wondering, Red, if you knew when Luella’s body might be released by the medical examiner to the funeral home.”

“Already has been,” said Red, ducking down as he retrieved his bag from the backseat. “Funeral is set for tomorrow morning at eleven. Graveside service.”

“At which cemetery? Perpetual Care? Ingleside? Or Grace Hill?” asked Myrtle over her shoulder as she found the key to her front door. With any luck, it wouldn’t be Grace Hill. She’d be setting out pretty early to walk to that cemetery or else she’d be hitching a ride again.

“Grace Hill,” said Red succinctly. “Do you want a ride out there? We’re having some car issues with Elaine’s minivan, but I’m going to be at the funeral. And early.”

Myrtle had no real desire to attend the funeral early. She’d rather linger later when there might be a chance to speak with some of Luella’s friends. “I’ll try to catch a ride with someone else. Thanks, though. If I can’t find anybody, I’ll give you a call. And, by the way, tomorrow afternoon I’m taking Elaine to go car shopping.”

She expected consternation from Red at her announcement, or at least some doubt as to his octogenarian mother’s ability to haggle with a car salesman. But instead, Red looked immensely relieved. “Mama, that’s wonderful. Thanks. With the way this case is going and with everything else going on, and with Elaine not really enjoying the whole car shopping experience…let’s just say I owe you one.”

Soon it was time to take Miles to his appointment. She fired up Erma’s old Cadillac and thoughtfully supplied a couple of plastic grocery bags to preserve the car’s upholstery from any virus-related aftermath.

Miles was looking even worse and leaned on Myrtle heavily as she helped him out to the car. “Have you got your insurance card?” she asked briskly. Miles gave her a helpless look and she shoved him into the car, took out her key, and searched Miles’s house until she found his wallet. When she’d returned to the car, he’d already fallen asleep.

It had been a few months since Myrtle had last driven and Erma’s car wasn’t exactly the minivan, which was the last vehicle Myrtle had driven. She decided that slow and steady won the race and set out at a stately twenty-five miles an hour.

Miles was still asleep when she finally arrived at the doctor’s office. Myrtle left him in the car and strode inside the small, brick building.

A cheery receptionist at the front desk beamed at her and chirped, “Good afternoon! Have you got your insurance card, sweetie?”

Myrtle never appreciated endearments from strangers. Especially when the strangers were young enough to be her grandchildren. “Have you got a strong man around?”

The receptionist’s eyes clouded. “Well…Doctor Phillips, I suppose.”

“No, Doctor Phillips doesn’t qualify as a strong man. I’ve seen him,” said Myrtle, pursing her lips. “I suppose you’ll have to do. You and a young nurse, perhaps. Your patient is out in the car—very ill. I lugged him into the car, but I want someone else to lug him out of it.”

The receptionist suddenly didn’t look either cheery or chirpy. “But …”

Myrtle tuned her out, turning her attention to a large bottle of hand sanitizer on the counter and availing herself of a large amount. She carefully chose a seat far away from any other patients and quickly engaged herself in what appeared to be a very old magazine.

Five minutes later, a rather green-looking Miles was unceremoniously dumped into the chair next to her. Myrtle swiftly moved to the next chair over. He turned his head to glance apprehensively around the waiting room. “You don’t suppose I could catch anything
else
on top of this virus, do you?”

Myrtle snorted. “Miles, you’re clearly the sickest person here. No one wants to get within germ-catching distance of
you
.”

Miles nodded and started drowsily dropping off. Then his eyes opened wide in alarm. “Someone
is
coming over, though.”

Myrtle glanced up, expecting to see a nurse to cart Miles away. Instead, she saw Florence Ainsworth walking over. Myrtle held up a cautionary hand. “Florence, Miles is too gentlemanly to ask, so I will. Have you got some sort of contagious disease that you’re here to have treated?”

Florence looked vaguely offended. “Not at all. I’m here for my checkup.”

“All right. Well, Miles here has a contagious disease that
he’s
here to have treated. So you might want to stop right where you are and we can have a bit of a long-distance conversation,” said Myrtle. Miles appeared to relax a bit. Actually, more than a bit. He was on the brink of falling asleep again, but fighting it.