Dina was delighted to see them. Or to see Myrtle’s donations, at least. Dina raved about the progress she and other volunteers had made at the shelter.
“And,” she added, smiling shyly at Myrtle, “thanks for making me put the donation jar in Bo’s diner. We’ve gotten so much money from people’s spare change.”
“Everybody in town goes to that diner and it’s the perfect way to get contributions,” said Myrtle.
Red broke in. “Dina, while I’m here, did you remember anything else from the night of the murder?” Dina pushed up her big glasses anxiously to get a better look at Red. “Sorry to bring it up again, but the investigation is still going on and your memories of that night aren’t getting any fresher,” he explained.
Gone was the self-assurance and enthusiasm present when Dina gushed over the shelter. She spluttered for a second before answering, “I don’t think I came up with anything else, Chief Clover. I mean—it was a very boring night.”
Red raised an eyebrow. “Aside from the murder where you lived and worked you mean?”
The sarcasm unsettled Dina. “I don’t know what you want me to remember.”
Red sighed and Myrtle bit back a smile. Getting information from Dina was like squeezing blood from a particularly unintelligent turnip. “Dina, I don’t want you to come up with things to remember. I want you to try thinking of little details, maybe things that were different than usual. Things that didn’t seem important at the time but that stand out more now.”
Dina fidgeted with her frizzy hair, pulling the curls out, then letting them coil back again. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know. Like I said, I ate supper by myself, since Tammy had gone out with Connor. I fell asleep with the TV on. When I woke up, it was two or three in the morning. I turned off the TV and went back to sleep.”
“You didn’t hear anything from the salon side of the duplex?” asked Red.
Dina shook her head miserably. “The walls are pretty thick, so sound doesn’t travel much from the salon to my room. The television probably blocked out some of the noise, too.”
“No shouting? No arguments? No bodies thumping down the stairs?” Red asked.
She thought for a minute, then shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she repeated again. She looked like a puppy waiting for encouragement.
“It’s okay, Dina. Let me know if you do think of something.” As Red and Myrtle walked out of the Beauty Box, Red shook his head in bewilderment. “I don’t see how that girl functions, I really don’t.”
Myrtle said, “I bet her mind is a big warehouse full of discarded information that might be worth something. She’s a nice enough girl. She just spooks easily. I hear she’s been an angel at this women’s shelter.”
“Maybe. But being an angel doesn’t make her any more fun to be around. Remember your favorite Twain quote?” asked Red.
“You mean: Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company? Yes, I know.”
Red sighed. “She’s as scatterbrained as ever or even worse. I saw her wandering the streets yesterday holding a pair of hair shears like she was Edward Scissorhands. Her elevator just doesn’t make it to the top floor.”
Myrtle laughed. “She tried to abduct Dirty Doggy the other day. Walked right out the door carrying it and I had to chase her down.”
Red looked ill at the thought of losing Dirty Doggy. “Don’t tell me things like that, Mama. It’s too scary to even contemplate.”
The next morning, Myrtle’s phone rang bright and early. “Miss Myrtle? It’s Prissy. I wasn’t sure if you’d still be at Elaine’s or back at your own house by now.”
It never ceased to amaze Myrtle how fast news traveled in small towns. “Yes, I’m back at home.”
“I called to give you a tip for your column.”
“Oh, good, I’ve been hoping to get some more. Reminds me to check my mailbox, too. What’ve you got for me?”
“I once heard that if you break a wine cork, you can strain the wine into your goblet through a coffee filter.”
It was a strange tip from a cardigan-wearing, herbal tea-drinking teetotaler. “Got it. Thanks. While I’ve got you on the phone, is it okay if I read to your preschool classes Monday?”
“Of course, Miss Myrtle, that would be great. Try to come around ten-thirty. Did you find a good book to share?”
“The children’s librarian picked out a couple.”
“I know the kids will love them. Thanks so much,” gushed Prissy before ringing off.
Prissy really did have a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality. Or could she really be imagining her hostility and the shove?
The doorbell rang. It was Miles, looking rather grim, for some reason. “Come on in, Miles. I was just getting off the phone with the evil Prissy. I’m convinced she’s looking for another opportunity to push me down a staircase. I’ll have to watch my step at her blasted preschool.”
“You’re calling each other on the phone, now?”
“She was just calling with a tip for the column. One other than for me to be careful on steep staircases. I guess I’ll have to write the column soon—I’ve been focusing all my time on the investigative reporting. Which reminds me—when are you picking me up for the stakeout?”
“Picking you up in what?” Miles’ voice was suddenly cold.
Myrtle frowned at him. “In your car, Miles.”
“My car is having its transmission replaced, even as we speak. I’m not sure what you did to it to break it—”
“Absolutely nothing! I was just driving. And very sedately, too! Clearly you put me in a defective vehicle.” Myrtle sighed. “This is terrible news, Miles! When will they fix your car so we can have our stakeout?”
“They say it’ll be ready to be picked up early tomorrow morning. But Myrtle, really, do we have to know the identity of Bootsie’s paramour?”
“We don’t have to know his identity so much. It’s more to confirm that the rumors are true. There’s no motive for Bootsie to have murdered Tammy if she’s just sneaking off every week to get Botox injections or something,” said Myrtle.
“This isn’t a project that really appeals to me.”
“How about if I just borrow your car, then. You don’t even have to go.”
This idea apparently was even less appealing to Miles. They made plans to meet the next morning.
The motel near the interstate overpass was intended for exhausted drivers desperate for shelter. The inn’s philosophy was apparently that the poor traveler would be too pooped to notice the worn carpet, thin 1970s-era bedspreads, and the particleboard furniture. A decrepit neon sign proclaimed “Motor Lodge.” Only the ‘r’ remained lit up. A smaller sign under the neon one advertised “HBO” and “American-Owned.” Myrtle couldn’t imagine another country that would claim it.
Miles parked the car under a tree in a distant parking space of the nearly deserted lot. “Look, there’s her car,” said Miles, pointing to a cream-colored Caddy. She shook her head as she considered the dismal motel. “Not listed in the travel agents’ honeymooner registry, is it?”
“Well, if you think about it, it’s the perfect place. No one would look for her here, after all. I bet the staff is pretty discreet…she’s probably their best customer. She won’t run into anybody she knows from town, and it isn’t on Judge Davenport’s route to the courthouse. Inexpensive and convenient. Anonymous.”
“With Bootsie’s airs and graces and the Southern Belle act she subjects us to, it’s hard to believe that she hangs out at cheap motels.”
“Yes, she does have a ‘to the manor born’ act.” Myrtle frowned. “Is it ‘to the manner born’ or ‘to the manor born’? Both make sense, if you think about it? From Hamlet, but which word did Shakespeare use?”
Miles shrugged, used to Myrtle’s metaphysical ramblings and non sequiturs. He pulled out the binoculars and handed them to Myrtle. “You want the first look at our quarry when she comes out?”
“You know, this is very exciting. We??
?re like real private eyes. All we need is a camera with a zoom lens to make us official,” said Myrtle.
“And a paying client,” reminded Miles.
“I’m still kind of surprised that she’s doing this. I guess it’s the thrill of it all. She’s had a boring life, after all. She’s been stuck with Judge Davenport her whole life. Now she’s middle-aged and he’s old. And from the looks of it, he’s going to be around for a while. I don’t think she has a lot of fun.”
“Hold on, there’s somebody walking out one of the doors on the second floor,” said Miles.
“Is it Bootsie?”
Miles kept peering through the binoculars. “I guess so. But she sure doesn’t look like president of the Cotillion board in that get-up.”
Myrtle snatched the binoculars away from him. She gaped at Bootsie in three-inch heels and a mini skirt heading quickly down the staircase and towards her Cadillac. “What’s she thinking? Has she been pilfering clothes from Kat’s closet? Let’s see if we can see who her companion is.”
Myrtle held her breath as she swung the lenses back in the direction of the motel room door. Sure enough, a youthful dark-haired man sauntered out. “Now who is he? He looks somewhat familiar…” She handed the binoculars back over to Miles.
“My yardman,” said Miles, staring at the figure. “I bet he does the Davenports’ lawn, too.”
“You must have a better-looking yardman than I do,” grumbled Myrtle. “The only good part about Dusty is that he’s cheap. That’s the whole reason I can’t fire his wife, Puddin. They’re a package deal and it’s impossible to find a cheap yardman in this town.”
As her friend went into the motel’s office to return the keys, Bootsie appeared to be wriggling into a matronly dress in the front seat while juggling her cell phone. She started the Cadillac and pulled quickly out of the parking space. Myrtle and Miles ducked down low until the sound of the engine died away. “She wasn’t even really looking around to make sure no one was watching,” said Miles.
“She’s probably been doing this for so long that she’s getting careless. Maybe she feels safe here.”
They watched as the handsome young man left the motel’s office and noisily used his remote to unlock a sporty black car. He was dressed casually, but expensively, in jeans and a polo shirt. Myrtle and Miles watched silently, their eyes following his car as it roared off. They didn’t notice the large figure striding rapidly towards them.