Puddin had done a surprisingly thorough job with the cleaning. She might have been so distracted thinking about the case that she accidentally did more cleaning than usual. She was even perspiring quite a bit by the time she left.
“Hot as the hinges in here,” Puddin growled as she pushed her way out Myrtle’s door.
“Hang on—those are mine!” Myrtle grabbed back her floor cleaner, ammonia, and furniture polish. “You never bring your cleaners, remember? And it’s not all that hot in here.”
“It is if you’re not a hundred years old,” said the vengeful Puddin as she kicked through the door.
“I’ve got years to go before I’m a hundred! Years!” hollered Myrtle behind her.
It pained her to admit that Puddin was right. It was a little on the warm side in her house. She irritably plopped onto her living room sofa and jumped in horror as she glimpsed her mantel. The painting! How had it gotten there? That Puddin! Miles must have paid her to sneak it into the house. Puddin was easily bribed.
Myrtle pushed herself up, grabbed the painting and shoved it under her sofa. Then she stomped off to take a look at her thermostat. Eighty-five degrees.
A call to the air conditioning repairman confirmed that they were backed up and couldn’t get to her at least two more days.
It seemed like an excellent time to visit Miles. With a painting in tow.
Miles seemed less than excited to see her. “Actually, Myrtle, I was just about to head off to the gym. Didn’t we just talk to each other?”
“Oh, the gym is open for hours. Can’t you offer an old lady refuge from the heat?”
“You can’t take refuge in your own house?” asked Miles, motioning her inside with a resigned look on his face.
“Unfortunately, my house is what I need refuge from. The air is broken. Naturally it only breaks down during the hottest part of the summer. They can’t get to it for days, either. T.S. Eliot obviously never spent a summer in the South if he thought April was the cruelest month.”
Miles raised his eyebrows. “It’ll be a hundred degrees in your house! You aren’t planning to stay there, are you? Or at least I can let you borrow some box fans I’ve got.”
Myrtle carefully hid a smile. “Can’t you let me stay with you? In your guest room?”
“Here?” Miles was flustered. “What would Erma Sherman say? She’d tell everyone we were living together! You’ve got to be joking.”
“I am,” said Myrtle, grinning. “But I have to say the way you didn’t leap to offer me your guest room is discouraging. Never mind. I have my own plans. It’s all about making lemonade out of lemons, you know. I’m going to stay with Red and Elaine. Gives me the perfect opportunity to grill Red about the murder.”
“Here we go again,” said Miles with an exaggerated sigh. “We don’t even know it is a murder, Myrtle.”
“Actually…” said Myrtle, “we do. Puddin came by today to clean for me. And it wasn’t even her day,” she added pointedly.
Miles seemed very busy fussing with his gym bag.
“She’d shown up at the Beauty Box to do her regular cleaning there and heard Kat talking to the police. Said Tammy was stabbed with some hair shears. It’s murder, all right.”
Miles looked a little more interested. “So tell me some of what was going on at your last appointment there. You said Tammy had been causing trouble.”
“Unfortunately, it all involves a lot of guessing because Tammy wasn’t clearly spelling everything out—just sort of making these wild innuendoes. But she said something about Bootsie Davenport’s young man and it flustered Bootsie like crazy.”
Miles sat down on the sofa, apparently accepting that the exercising would be put off a little longer. “Bootsie…this is Judge Davenport’s wife. The society maven. At least, a society maven for Bradley, North Carolina.”
“That’s right. And she acted like Tammy was talking about their college-age son, but Tammy made it pretty clear she wasn’t. She also said something about Prissy Daniels.”
Miles snorted. “What could Tammy possibly have on Prissy Daniels? That she drives two miles over the speed limit? That she doesn’t play piano as well as she claims? She’s a Sunday school teacher, for heaven’s sake.”
“And a preschool director,” reminded Myrtle. “But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have a secret life.” Just the words alone gave Myrtle a thrill. She loved uncovering secrets. Particularly from goody-goodies like Prissy. “Tammy was real vague again, as far as her gossip went. Said something about us not knowing the real Prissy. It sure got a reaction out of Prissy. She must have known something.”
“So, Bootsie and Prissy. Anybody else get smeared during their weekly pilgrimage to the Beauty Box? I’m starting to be glad I go to the barber. Bill just cuts my hair. He hums sometimes, but that’s it.”
“It sounds dead boring to me,” said Myrtle with a sniff. “At least the Beauty Box has entertainment included in the price of services. Let’s see. Tammy was ugly to Kat because Kat was obviously completely embarrassed by the way her aunt was acting. So she sort of insulted her. And, of course, the brilliant Puddin thought that Kat might have a financial motive.”
“That’s just naturally the type of angle that Puddin would consider, though. She’s in challenging financial circumstances, after all,” said Miles, sounding reproachful.
“Only because her back gets thrown at the thought of work! Much as I hate to admit it, though, Puddin might possibly have something. Kat would get the shop and Tammy probably had a little bit put away somewhere. And she wouldn’t have to be bossed around by anybody—money would bring her some independence, which is probably what she wants most. She’s had no control over her future and money would give her a little security.”
Miles pushed his glasses up his nose, a reflexive motion when he was thinking. “Wasn’t there somebody else who lived there with Tammy, too?”
“Ohhh yes. Dina. She’s Tammy’s project, back from when Tammy was sober enough to take on projects. She was escaping a bad marriage and Tammy took her in and gave her a job. But she was acting ugly to Dina yesterday, too.”
“Maybe Dina got fed up with it?” said Miles. “The final straw kind of thing? Maybe she snapped?”
Myrtle considered this. “Maybe. I hear her husband was abusive, so it could be that Tammy triggered some pent-up anger. I don’t know, though—I just can’t see it. Although Tammy was threatening to write Dina and Kat out of her will. That could have provided motive enough to kill her—before she could make any changes.”
Myrtle pushed herself off the sofa. “Okay! You can go to the gym now, Miles. I just wanted to give you the low-down. We’ve got another case to solve.”
“Don’t you mean you do?” asked Miles dryly. “As I recall, you like to be in charge of your cases.”
“Yes, but sleuths need sidekicks, Miles. Sounding boards. Sherlock had Watson, Poirot had Hastings. And I have you. But sidekicks do their best work in the background, you know. They’re the behind the scenes guys.” Myrtle watched him carefully for signs of insurrection, but saw nothing in his placid expression. She smiled.
“And now it really is time for me to go to the gym,” said Miles, standing up and motioning to Myrtle.
“Of course. But could you give me a glass of water real quick, Miles? My house was warmer than I realized. I’m feeling pretty dry.”
As he slipped into the kitchen, she reached out Miles’ front door and grabbed the shopping bag she’d left there. The painting was settled nicely behind an armchair before he got back with the water.