Chapter Six
Tammy was buried on a scorching Sunday afternoon. Dogs, hoping for stray breezes, lay very still under oak trees. Heat rose in squiggly waves from the asphalt. Kids who’d played catch the flag and red rover now spent all their time drifting in large black, blazing-hot inner tubes on the warm lake water. Temperatures flirted with 100 degrees by eleven that morning. Tammy’s service was graveside and a fair-sized crowd had turned out. “They probably want proof she’s really dead,” hissed Myrtle to Elaine.
Law enforcement, represented by Red and what appeared to be several officers from the state police were also in attendance, hanging back and scrutinizing the mourners. They were probably hoping the murderer, overcome with remorse, would fling himself prostrate on the coffin, begging the victim for forgiveness. Or, at the very least, that they might spot a guilty face in the crowd.
Myrtle wondered where all the overcast Hollywood movie funerals were set. North Carolina services were fiendishly uncomfortable affairs featuring small graveside tents where the grieving family sat in shaded discomfort. Friends and lesser mourning relatives hovered in sweaty misery on the fringe of the oasis, hoping for a pastor with a succinct style.
Tammy’s shortage of close family changed the protocol. Kat sat in the front row with an uneasy Dina next to her. With no other family or close friends to offend, the other mourners claimed seats on a first-come-first-served basis as they arrived.
. Dina started crying before the service had even really started. Tammy’s ex-husband Bo, sitting behind Dina, leaned forward to pat her awkwardly on the back. Dina made a flustered attempt to ignore him, probably loyally remembering his alleged mistreatment of Tammy.
The preacher, whose pews Tammy hadn’t darkened for several years, performed a standard service. Those in attendance appeared remarkably unaffected with the exception of Dina and Bo, who were both crying: Dina with gulping sobs and Bo with loud sniffs accompanied by louder nose blowing. Bo reached forward and gave Dina a fresh tissue. She gratefully took it after a moment of hesitation.
Myrtle was just glad they’d finally made it to the funeral. Elaine and she’d arrived later than planned because Jack had picked their departure as an opportunity to knock over Red’s cologne, which spilled all over his front and then onto Elaine. She hurried to change them both, flinging clothes off and throwing them on the den floor as she ran. Then she’d packed a bag for Jack to have at the babysitter’s house. With a couple of rifles and some MREs, Jack could have fit in with, or possibly led, a survivalist group. For the most part, Myrtle had been able to stifle her sighs. Although Elaine drove to the funeral home at speeds that Myrtle found NASCAResque, they were the last to arrive at the funeral home and took up the rear of the procession. They stood in intense sunshine at the graveside.
Myrtle lost her balance while fanning herself with her program and stumbled. A hand grabbed her elbow and she looked up into Connor Walker’s concerned face. The perfect moment for a private chat. She acted especially feeble and Connor gently pulled Myrtle away to a stone bench located closer to the parked cars. Agnes glared helplessly at her from the crowd around the graveside. Probably contemplating faking a fit, too. Agnes clearly wasn’t pleased by the tête-à-tête.
Myrtle plopped on the bench and Connor whipped out a pristine monogrammed handkerchief. Myrtle attributed the cotton anachronism to the Agnes Effect. She dabbed her face politely, although she—like most very elderly people—didn’t really perspire. “Heat getting to you, Miss Myrtle?” asked Connor. “I can’t imagine you’re overwhelmed by grief.”
“No, Tammy and I only had a professional relationship. Not like yours,” she said, peering up at him from the corners of her eyes.
Connor’s attractive features clouded up. He was one of the lucky ones who’d won the genetic jackpot in the looks lottery. Jet-black hair with contrasting blue eyes, movie-star jaw and perfect teeth. He dressed neatly and fashionably and never had a hair out of place. He was completely conscious of his attractive appearance, which should have detracted from it, but didn’t.
“Actually, Miss Myrtle, our relationship was over—on my end, anyway. I ended our relationship while we were at a restaurant, thinking she wouldn’t make a scene. But being out in public sure didn’t stop her from pitching a fit.”
“Excuse an old lady’s nosiness, Connor, but what made you decide to break up with Tammy?”
“The fact she drank bourbon for breakfast didn’t help. Tammy used to be a lot of fun. Pretty, smart, wicked sense of humor. But she was a mean drunk. And she drank all the time the last couple of months of her life.”
“Too bad you had to go through all that.”
“You mean that I’m going through all that,” he said. “Now it looks like I’m a prime suspect. Tammy and I argued in public, we’d had a relationship, and I don’t have an alibi.”
“What were you doing that night?” asked Myrtle.
He stared at her oddly and opened his mouth to answer when Agnes materialized and shut him up. The service was over and the assembled mourners sped to their cars where air conditioners were immediately turned to “Arctic” setting. The minister, wilting in his heavy black robes, watched wistfully as his short-term flock galloped away.
Elaine hurried to join Myrtle, Connor and Agnes. “Are you all right, Myrtle?”
Agnes fixed her with a piercing stare and Myrtle played a frail old lady again, realizing it wasn’t much of a stretch. “I’m all right now that I’m sitting down. Thanks, Connor,” she said, patting his leg. “The heat made me ill for a minute. Nauseated,” she drawled to a sympathetic Elaine.
“Let’s get in the car and blast the air,” Elaine said and took Myrtle by the arm to help her up. Myrtle noticed Connor watch the sunlight blaze on Kat’s cotton-candy hair as she walked to her Harley. At least Kat thought to wear black to the funeral. It was black leather, but still. Kat grinned up at Connor as they talked together for a few minutes. Agnes pursed her lips as she looked on.
Detective Lieutenant John Perkins walked up to Myrtle. “Hi, Mrs. Clover. Good to see you again.”
If Perkins was at all concerned that he was dealing with Red’s mother again with a murder investigation, he didn’t show it. He also didn’t seem to be dripping with sweat the way that Red was. As always, he looked cool and collected with super-short, iron-gray hair that looked like the casualty of a military barber’s clippers.
“Good to see you too, Detective Perkins. Red told me you might want to ask me some questions about Tammy and her last day at the Beauty Box.”
“I’ll plan on running by later today, Mrs. Clover, if you’re planning to be around. Red told me that you were staying with him temporarily.”
He’d likely put a lot of emphasis on that temporarily. “I’ll be around.” She was just opening her mouth to ask a couple of questions of her own when Perkins gave a stiff nod, and walked abruptly off and back to Red. Myrtle sighed. Lt. Perkins was going to be as unhelpful as Red was.
Elaine helped Myrtle into the car and they drove to the sitter’s house. Elaine heaved a sigh. “I guess we’ve done our good deed for the day, paying our respects to Tammy.”
“‘Paying our respects’ is a stretch, since we didn’t respect the new, unimproved Tammy.”
“We paid them to the old Tammy, I guess,” said Elaine. “The sober one who kept secrets. She hesitated for a moment before adding, “I guess you didn’t find out too much from Connor. I heard some gossip about Connor and Bootsie having a fling.”
Myrtle’s eyes opened wide. “Connor and Bootsie? Is Bootsie having a midlife crisis? Rapping ringtones, complaints about her matronly hairdo. Affairs with younger men?”
“It’s just talk and probably not even true. You know how Bradley gossip is.”
“But if it’s true, then it could mean more trouble for Connor. Maybe Tammy wasn’t letting their relationship end and he really wanted to be with Bootsie. Maybe Bootsie and Connor planned to get Tammy out of the way.”
El
aine had stopped listening. Now that she had the funeral checked off her mental to-do list and relegated to an event of the distant past, she moved on to more current concerns. “I hope Jack was okay at the sitter’s. He hasn’t wanted to take a nap lately, but then when he doesn’t take a nap, he gets really destructive...”
Myrtle ignored the fretting. She couldn’t shake a feeling of foreboding. “You know, Elaine,” she said, interrupting Elaine’s monologue, “I don’t think Tammy’s spirit is resting peacefully. Her killer needs to be brought to justice before her soul can be at peace.”
Elaine raised her eyebrows. “It’s not like you to be fanciful.”
It wasn’t. “Maybe I’m being haunted by the ghost of Tammy Past. And she wants me to put her killer away so she can kick back and enjoy heaven a little.”
“Could you leave your friendly ghost over at your own house? I don’t think I can handle Tammy at mine…dead or alive.”
They picked up Jack, who gave them both a big hug, successfully transferring a stain on the front of his outfit onto both of theirs in the process. Elaine’s house was in the same state of disarray they’d left it in, with breakfast dishes on the counter, toys creating an obstacle course for the houseguest, and an overflowing trashcan with a pungent odor.
“I’ll start supper,” said Myrtle. Surely they had eggs or something. She could handle an omelet.
“No, that’s all right,” said Elaine quickly. “You just have a seat. I’ve got it all under control.” Myrtle looked suspiciously at Elaine to see if there was any hint on her face that she didn’t want Myrtle to cook. Or didn’t like her cooking. There seemed to be a misconception floating around about Myrtle’s cooking. But Elaine turned her back to her and started pulling ingredients out of the fridge.
“I promise that the house isn’t always a disaster,” said Elaine. “Something has to give, though. It was either play with Jack yesterday or do housework. And then the funeral took up housecleaning time today, of course.”
“No worries, Elaine. I’m manufacturing the mess, too.” Myrtle walked to the back of the house and started a load of laundry from clothing she picked off the floor along the way. She watched the washing machine fill up. Maybe she should find some temporary help for Elaine. The cordless phone, the object of much frantic searching the day before, was conveniently located on the dryer.
“Agnes?” she asked when her friend answered. “It’s Myrtle.”
A stiff but polite, “Hello, there. Wasn’t the service nice today?” followed a pregnant pause.
“Agnes, could you help me out? Elaine is working herself into the grave taking care of Jack, cooking, doing housework, and being proprietress at the Home for Wayward In-laws. Didn’t you say you were happy with your cleaning lady? I might hire her to help Elaine for a while.”
Suspicions eased, Agnes replied, “Why, that’s a fine idea, Myrtle. Everybody had housekeepers when we were young mothers. I’ve wondered how Elaine keeps up with everything she’s got going on. You don’t want to lend her Puddin, I guess.”
“I said I wanted to help Elaine. Puddin doesn’t help. Getting her to even show up to clean is a job in itself. She always says her back is thrown whenever I want her to dust anything. Could your lady fit Elaine in? Who are her other clients?” Bonus points if any of the murder suspects were on her cleaning schedule. Extra bonus points if the housekeeper was chatty.
“Let’s see. Jo’s at Prissy’s once a week, I think. She helps out Bootsie Davenport a couple of days a week, too. And she’s at my house once a week.”
Myrtle smiled. “She sounds perfect.”
“I think one of her clients had to move to Greener Pastures. Maybe she can take her spot.”
Agnes gave Myrtle Jo’s number and hung up. Housekeepers usually were treasure troves of gossip and innuendo. Jo might know some of the same secrets Tammy knew, if she were really plugged in. Besides, Elaine could definitely use the help around the house. Myrtle hummed a bit of an old hymn. More Good Deeds.
She’d just changed out of her funeral outfit and was fixing herself something to munch on when the front door opened. Detective Lieutenant Perkins walked in with a sergeant and Red in tow. Myrtle puttered around and made a fuss over them.
To present the perfect picture of elderly innocence, she’d changed into a fluffy pink cardigan and navy pleated skirt. A large basket of knitting would have been perfect, she thought. She cursed her crafting ineptitude. But even the cardigan was pushing it as a prop, considering the triple-digit temperature. Besides, Red would have been suspicious if she poured it on too much. And he was already squinting distrustfully at her as it was.
Myrtle launched into a monologue of garrulous prattle. Detective Lieutenant Perkins’ face remained impassive, showing not a flicker of impatience. Red, on the other hand, gaped at her, as if wondering who the woman impersonating his mother was. She was going to have to get rid of him.
Still trying to enjoy her snack, Myrtle unfortunately choked on a cracker while inhaling the air needed to fuel the chatter. As she coughed, Lieutenant Perkins took the opportunity to break in. “Mrs. Clover, I’d actually like you to tell me a little about your visit to the Beauty Box the day that Ms. Smith died.” At her blank expression, he prompted patiently, “Your account of who was there and as much of the conversations and atmosphere as you can recall. It would be really helpful to me.”
Red squirmed as Myrtle continued dilly-dallying, hemming, hawing and coughing. Convinced Red was about to detonate, Myrtle wondered what would push him completely over the edge. She’d rather have him kicked out of the interview than suffer his raised eyebrows, red face, and interruptions. Red was on his best behavior for Perkins’ benefit and would hang out with them forever unless she could push him just a little more.
Instead of answering Perkins’ question, she leaned forward, looking at him earnestly. “Agnes Walker recommended some really excellent cookies at the Piggly Wiggly. Elaine bought a bag and I’m dying to try one. Should I get us a little plate?” Sometimes a little delay was a good thing. Maybe she could redirect the conversation so that she was getting information instead of giving it. Or maybe she could push Red just a little bit...
It worked and Red finally exploded. “Mama! You’ve already hacked up a cracker and now you want to strangle yourself on more food? Detective Lieutenant Perkins is trying to conduct an interview here—”
Perkins cut him off, coolly. “Actually, cookies sound refreshing. Maybe you wouldn’t mind getting some for us, Red.” It wasn’t a question. “My sergeant could also really use your help with the suspect profiles.”
Perkins settled back in the chair, his gray eyes steadily watching Myrtle as her son walked to the kitchen, muttering under his breath. Perkins’ talent lay in acting as if he had all the time in the world. Instead of hurrying to fill awkward silences, he encouraged them and the pressure that came with them.
“I don’t know where to start,” Myrtle said, crossly. The interview wasn’t going as planned. She was supposed to be interviewing him.
Perkins didn’t offer any suggestions, so she took a deep breath and outlined the general set-up of the beauty parlor that day—who was there and what was said. She’d just keep any insights to herself.
Perkins nodded. “That ties in with what we’ve heard from the other witnesses that day.” Red brought in the plate of cookies and a pitcher of lemonade, and then left with the sergeant while Perkins waited, still regarding Myrtle with a thoughtful expression which was beginning to unnerve Myrtle. She was stricken with an uncontrollable desire to come clean. And she hadn’t even done anything.
“Could you maybe provide some information about the people who were there.” He leaned forward and spoke in a voice so low that she, too, had to lean forward to hear him. “You’re a valuable resource to me, Mrs. Clover. I need to get into these people’s minds and motives to crack this case.”
Maternal pride forced her to say, “You have Red to help you out, though. He can
get into people’s minds just as well as I can.”
Perkins nodded. “Oh, he’ll be able to give some background. But frequently women are much more observant and insightful than men are.”
Myrtle immediately forgot her plan to keep mum. It was a relief to talk openly about these people. A lifetime living in Bradley meant watching your tongue, knowing that gossip would always find its way back to the person you’d been maligning. Here was a one-time opportunity to actually vent to an eager audience who wanted every spiteful detail. She could hardly wait.
“Do I have your permission to be catty?” asked Myrtle.
“Mrs. Clover, not only do you have my permission to be catty, you have my personal request to be catty,” said Perkins. He opened up a notebook.
Myrtle purred. “Well, let’s see.”
“Prissy Daniels?” prompted Perkins.
“Professional old-maid. She was prudish and old-fashioned by the time she was five, as I recall. Her life is wrapped up in being a preschool director and a paragon of maidenly virtue.”
“Ever marry?”
“She was nobody’s pretty child.”
“Dina Peters?”
Myrtle sighed. “What can you say about Dina? She has absolutely no personality at all because she’s always been stifled by people around her. Her parents were ghastly people. Bless their dead souls. Then she fell into the evil and abusive clutches of her now-ex-husband. Good-Tammy rescued her before turning into Bad-Tammy.”
“How did Bad-Tammy treat Dina?”
Myrtle said, “Poorly. She either ignored her or put her down.”
“Did Dina resent Tammy’s behavior?”
“She doesn’t seem to have the sense to resent anyone. Dina always has a vapid expression on her face. She sounded grateful if Tammy ever acknowledged her existence.”
“What do you know about Kat Roberts? She’s a newcomer to Bradley, right?”
Myrtle cackled. “Anyone not born in Bradley is a newcomer, if not a downright outsider. She’s been in the area for a year or so but only at the Beauty Box for a couple of months. Tammy enrolled her in cosmetology school before that. As soon as she got her license, she started working with Tammy.”
“Does she seem happy here? Settled?”
Myrtle said, thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t call her settled. She does have a house, so she’s settled into the town, but she hasn’t really established her career here. She doesn’t have many regulars at the Beauty Box yet. I’m sure she’d like more clientele.”
Myrtle asked innocently, “Are your suspects limited to the clients at the shop? Or did Tammy manage to offend more of the general populace?”
Perkins smoothly turned the question around. “Who else do you think might be considered a suspect?”
Myrtle answered immediately. “Connor Walker. He had an argument with her the day she died. And Tammy’s ex, Bo Smith. I’m sure ex-husbands always make a suspect list.”
“They do,” said Perkins. “But not in this instance. Bo Smith has an iron-clad alibi.”
Then Detective Lieutenant Perkins snapped his notebook shut, leaving Myrtle with her mouth open, scrambling to turn the tables on the interview. “Thanks for your time, ma’am. Call me if you think of anything else that might be useful. Red knows how to reach me, but here’s my card if you think of something else.” He gave her a card with his cell phone number on it.
Before she could stammer out a protest or try a stalling tactic, he’d gone. This investigation of hers would take more legwork than she’d planned on. At least she’d learned that Tammy’s ex was not on the suspect list.
Elaine walked cautiously into the den, holding Jack in one arm and a feather duster in the other. “Coast clear?”
Myrtle nodded. “All clear. Unfortunately! I didn’t get a chance to get all my questions answered.” Seeing Elaine reminded her about the housekeeper. What if Elaine thought she was interfering? Was she interfering? “Um…don’t be angry with me, Elaine.”
“Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of that. Are you a suspect now?”
“It’s nothing to do with the case. I just thought I’d hire you a little help around the house. You know: until Jack is older and either easier to care for, or can be shipped off to the Foreign Legion or something.” Myrtle was horrified to see tears welling up in Elaine’s eyes. “Did I hurt your feelings? The house always looks great, but when you said that you had to decide between time for you and Jack or cleaning…”
Elaine said quickly. “I’m not mad, I’m grateful. It’s like having a fairy godmother.” She pulled Myrtle into an enthusiastic hug, squishing a protesting Jack in the process. Then she pulled back. “It’s not Puddin, is it?”
“No, no, not Puddin. I like you, Elaine. I wouldn’t foist a Puddin on you. Absolutely not.”
Myrtle guiltily eased out of Elaine’s embrace. Well, after all, she could have had only the purest motives for getting the housekeeper. Did motives really matter, anyway? Wasn’t it the helping that ultimately mattered in the end? She’d thought of Elaine, truly she had.