Myrtle offered to listen out for Jack, who was napping, while Elaine ran errands. It was also time for Tomorrow’s Promise, which was Myrtle’s favorite soap opera. Red came through the back door, looking grouchy and hungry. He opened his mouth to say something to Myrtle, but she lifted her hand to hush him. Soleil was just about to tell Rohan that she’d always loved him…and she wasn’t about to miss it.
When the commercial break started, Myrtle joined Red in the kitchen. “This is a late lunch, isn’t it?”
Red grunted. “And I didn’t get breakfast. I can’t wait until this case wraps up.”
“Early start this morning?”
Red glowered at her. “No earlier than you, Mama. Did you ever go back to bed after your two-thirty jaunt in the kitchen?”
“No, I was wide awake. Who knows—I might join Jack for a nap later.” She paused for a moment. “Gotten any closer to identifying the killer?”
Red answered cautiously, “We’ve got a few ideas.”
“The M.O. makes it look like the perp is a novice, doesn’t it?”
“Why, yes, Mama. The murderer’s a real greenhorn. Did you think there’s a Mafia hit man terrorizing Bradley?” His eyes were hard slits. “Perp? M.O.? You watching Murder, She Wrote reruns on cable again?”
“What if I am?” Myrtle gave him a disdainful look. Red had never given Jessica Fletcher her proper due.
Red held up his hand. “I don’t have time to argue, Mama. Got to grab a quick lunch before heading back to work.”
Myrtle gave a look that she hoped was just polite interest.
Red looked at Myrtle sideways like he was trying to figure out whether he should tell her something. “Detective Lieutenant Perkins wants to go back and question some folks again and wants me to join him. Says I should know how to approach the suspects and what they might be trying to hide.” Red sighed. “I don’t have a clue what was going on in these people’s private lives, Mama. I think this town is chock-full of secrets, too.”
It would be better if this ended up being Red’s idea. Red pulled mayo, mustard, lettuce and roast beef out of the fridge. Slathering bread with Hellmann’s, he said, “Hey, Mama, hear any juicy gossip while you were hanging out at the Beauty Box? Did you know who Tammy was picking on or what dirt she was holding over their heads?”
“Well, I did hear some gossip,” said Myrtle, in a tantalizing way. “Was there anybody in particular you were looking for information about?”
“Okay, let me tell you who we’re looking at…but don’t spread private police business all over town. We’ve talked to Prissy Daniels a couple of times, which you probably already know since every busybody in town was dangling out their windows when our car pulled in front of Miss Prissy’s house. We’ll drop in on Bootsie Davenport next. Both ladies have been evasive.”
Red took a bite from his sandwich and mumbled through it, “We got nowhere with Prissy. She kept spilling her tea all over the table, which made me wonder why she was so nervous. What do you know about her? I just know she taught me Sunday school when I was a teenager.”
“Prissy was probably just nervous because you were at her house. No man has probably ever passed through her door. Tammy was being snide about her, though.”
Red leaned forward on the kitchen stool. “Do you remember exactly what Tammy said?”
“Tammy was just taunting everybody—sort of a cat and mouse thing. She was making fun of Prissy as soon as she walked out the door. Prissy, as usual, forgot something and came back in the shop to overhear Tammy snickering over 'our Prissy. She’s not as sweet as she looks.’”
“What dirt could anybody possibly find on Prissy Daniels?”
“Maybe she’s a closet alcoholic with a DUI in her past? Maybe it’s something scandalous that would really mess up her gig at Little Lambs Preschool. That preschool is her favorite place in the world. She’s always asking people at the Beauty Box if they want to come by and tell stories to the kids there.”
“A DUI? I’ve never even seen Prissy Daniels drink root beer. And the DUI, if there was one, didn’t happen in my jurisdiction.” Red rubbed the palms of his hands over his eyes. “It’s the end of the world if Miss Prissy is an alkie. What next? Bootsie Davenport was abducted by aliens?”
“According to Tammy, something a lot more human abducted Bootsie. She supposedly has some young man she’s seeing. Someone mentioned to me that she thought it was Connor.”
Red grunted noncommittally, but raised his eyebrows.
“Agnes’ son is the only lothario I can think of,” added Myrtle, studying Red. He looked like he might know something about Bootsie’s love life.
“Connor must’ve had his hands full with Tammy.”
“Tammy was enough to keep anybody busy,” Myrtle agreed. “I don’t know if Connor was cheating on Tammy or not. I don’t know whom Bootsie is seeing, but Tammy seemed pretty sure it was someone.”
“I really don’t see Connor being interested in Bootsie,” said Red.
Myrtle felt a touch of guilt over Kat. Had she sent a pink-haired lamb to the slaughter? What if Connor were some kind of lady-killer…for real? “I guess you’re right. He’s probably just not ready to settle down.
This conversation with Red wasn’t going as well as it should. He was giving her some hints as to whom they were interested in investigating closer, but she was talking too much. What she needed was some fresh information. And another cop. “Red, I was thinking, why don’t you invite Detective Lieutenant Perkins over to supper tonight? He’s a visitor to Bradley, after all, and it would be the polite thing to do.”
Red peered at her through squinty eyes. “You’re not planning to pump him for information, are you?”
She looked down her nose at him. “Of course not. We should extend our hospitality, that’s all.” Thunder rumbled ominously outdoors and Red frowned at her suspiciously.
“Well, I don’t know. It’s kind of last minute for Elaine.”
Myrtle said, “I’ll call Elaine’s cell phone real quick—she was going to finish up her errands at the store. She could pick up some food from the grocery store deli; fried chicken, coleslaw, potato salad, fruit. I’ll even pay for it!” She felt very benevolent. “Oh, and Miles can come, too. You know how he enjoys going out for dinner.”
Red sighed. “I guess so. Thanks for hijacking my quiet evening.”
Myrtle acted as demure as a very big-boned woman could. “You know, Red, I’ve been meaning to drop by and visit with Prissy for a while. Just to see about volunteering to read for the preschool classes,” she hurried on as Red opened his mouth to object. “After all,” she said with a sanctimonious air, “it’s important to give something back to the community.”
Red politely overlooked that his mother had been immune to the need for community involvement for the past eighty years. “You’re messing with a hornets’ nest.”
“I’m visiting Prissy, that’s all. She’s hardly a homicidal maniac. Besides, she’ll actually talk to me. When you were there, she was probably too stunned to even say anything.”
“Be careful, Mama.”
It was the second warning she’d received that day. But humming the hymn put the warning right out of her head.
Prissy’s cottage was just a short walk from Red and Elaine’s house. Myrtle strolled down the sidewalk through downtown Bradley. The old street was divided by a grassy median with a row of dogwoods down the center. The streetlights flanking the road were hung with American flags. What could have been hokey in another town was perfect for Bradley. She gave an appreciative sniff as she passed Bo’s Diner, packed with the lunchtime crowd. She walked by the small city hall with the fountain in front and took a left down the next street.
Prissy’s little yard was plucked, pruned and manicured with luscious zoysia grass, yellow Jessamine enthusiastically climbing her fence and English ivy scaling the shady side of the house. Steep concrete stairs climbed to the cheery red front door. Myrtle took a deep breath and carefull
y mounted the steps. They were even steeper than they’d looked and she gasped for breath as she leaned against Prissy’s buzzer.
Prissy answered the door, bleating in distress as Myrtle wobbled on the porch. “Myrtle! You shouldn’t climb those stairs. If you’d called ahead, I’d have met you in the yard...” and so on while pulling her inside with hands much stronger than they appeared. To Myrtle’s dismay, Prissy was yelling at full volume. Myrtle remembered that she’d claimed deafness in the beauty parlor. “Got my ears in now, Prissy!”
Prissy ushered her into a prim parlor where Prissy’s dead ancestors glared reprovingly from the walls. The scent of lemon oil polish competed with a faint smell of mothballs hanging in the air. A well-worn Queen Anne chair and an old-fashioned settee gave a half-hearted welcome. Myrtle gratefully plopped on the settee, accompanied by a screech of springs. Prissy, still fussing, perched her cadaverous figure on the edge of a chair.
This didn’t need to be a long visit. She’d just launch into her spiel. “I wanted to see if you needed a storyteller at the Little Lambs Preschool. I know you’ve mentioned it a few times at the beauty parlor. I could volunteer once every week or two and read to the children,” said Myrtle.
Prissy’s face brightened at her offer. Now Myrtle felt guilty. She’d go to the church and read to the little urchins, after all. Maybe she could check out the program while she was there and see if it might work for Jack.
While Prissy extolled the virtues of storytelling, the preciousness of the preschool and of children in general, Myrtle stole glances around the room. It was painstakingly neat with a Spartan lack of clutter. Myrtle was disappointed the parlor’s tables weren’t littered with love letters, poison pen mail or smoking guns. Myrtle gazed longingly through a door that appeared to lead to Prissy’s bedroom and bathroom.
Myrtle interrupted Prissy’s reverent monologue. “Prissy, I hope you don’t mind, but I need to use your powder room.”
Prissy said, “Of course, Myrtle! The bathroom connects to my bedroom.”
Myrtle walked through a narrow hall to a small bedroom. At first, Myrtle saw nothing interesting about the room. The bed was covered in an attractive old spread that looked like an heirloom. A handmade quilt from the same era was folded neatly at the foot of the bed. There were two clutter-free bedside tables. Myrtle was about to give up in disgust at the anonymous neatness of the room when she spotted a desk in the corner of the room with a computer on top.
She was halfway across the room when she heard the squeaking of floorboards in the hall and hurried to the bathroom instead. She shut the door quickly behind her and flushed the john. Then she washed her hands in the porcelain washstand, drying them on dainty finger towels hanging next to the sink. Was Prissy hovering out in the hall, making sure Myrtle wasn’t snooping?
Myrtle made sure the coast was clear before hurrying back into the bedroom. Prissy called after her, “Miss Myrtle? Everything all right?”
She’s checking up on me. “Just fine, Prissy. As I told you, I needed to use your powder room all of a sudden. No reason for alarm.”
There wasn’t enough time. She’d have to find a reason for a follow-up visit. And a reason for a second bathroom visit. Plus a way to distract Prissy for a longer time. As she walked back into the living room, Prissy gave her a weak smile. Myrtle felt reassured. Prissy had no reason to suspect her, after all. She was in the bedroom legitimately and hadn’t touched the computer.
“Prissy, I’m so impressed! I’d no idea you were computer savvy. Red and Elaine have one of those contraptions, but they’re young people. I just don’t have a clue on those machines.”
She’d expected Prissy to preen at the praise and register that supposedly computer-illiterate Myrtle wouldn’t be hacking into the thing, but instead Prissy turned a mottled red color. She must really have some dirty stuff on there. Myrtle threw Prissy a lifeline. “You use it for school email and that type of thing?”
Prissy spluttered out gibberish. Since she obviously wasn’t going to regain her composure anytime soon, Myrtle promised to check into reading to the preschool children and, carefully balancing on her cane, slowly descended the steep stairs. She felt Prissy’s eyes burning into her back as she left.