Happy toddler talk woke Myrtle at six o’clock. She pulled on bright blue knit pants and a knit top and peered into Jack’s room. He stood on his bed, watching Myrtle suspiciously. It was nearly dawn, the only time of day for a walk when the weather was scorching. “Mama?” he asked.
“Oh, we don’t need Mama right now, Mr. Jack. We’re going to have ourselves a happy walk.”
Jack, still eyeing Myrtle with puzzlement, clutched his lovey, Dirty Doggy, in a chubby hand. Dirty Doggy’s filth had reached epic proportions and Jack’s attachment showed no signs of easing up. This morning Dirty Doggy was sporting the evidence of Jack’s dinner last night. According to Dirty Doggy’s coat, Jack had feasted on pureed peas and had, as usual, insisted on his friend’s presence with him as he ate.
Dirty Doggy was in dire need of a day at the spa. The stroller ride would distract Jack from missing his friend and the wash cycle would be over when they got back. If Jack got too desperate, she could always hand it over, still soggy. Myrtle grabbed the offending item and marched to the laundry room. After dumping in half a container of soap and stain-remover, she hurried back to Jack.
“Nana’s fixing you some breakfast, sweetie,” said Myrtle. Jack opened his small mouth to protest. “Uh-uh,” said Myrtle in her best no-nonsense tone. “We’re letting Mama sleep.”
What did little guys eat for breakfast? She felt Jack’s eyes boring critically into her as she fumbled around in the pantry. Myrtle surveyed the dazzling display of chips and breakfast cereal in Elaine’s pantry while Jack muttered under his breath.
“Let’s eat and run, sweetie,” said Myrtle, making an executive decision. She grabbed a banana, put some cereal in a zipper bag, and headed to the garage with Jack.
Jack climbed into the umbrella stroller and Myrtle absently offered him the banana. Would Agnes be up this early? Probably. Shouldn’t she have seen or heard something? Her house was right next door to the Beauty Box. If the murder had taken place some point before midnight, then Agnes would have probably been awake. She was a night owl, for sure.
The sound of her name stopped her. Agnes Walker’s expression suggested that she’d called her name a few times already. “Time to invest in hearing aids, Myrtle?”
Myrtle had excellent hearing. “I’m just thinking, that’s all.”
“Are you sure you’re thinking this morning? Poor Jack might be trying to get your attention, too. A whole banana? Couldn’t you have at least peeled the thing? Poor child. Let’s go inside so Miss Agnes can take care of you.” Agnes stuck her newspaper under her arm, took Jack by his hand and helped him out of the stroller. He trotted beside her into the house.
Myrtle was feeling a little sour, but bit her tongue. She needed to get information from Agnes, after all. She parked the stroller outside the front door and followed Agnes in.
Myrtle winced at the baby talk that Agnes was speaking to Jack. There was something unattractive about baby talk coming out of a seventy-year-old face. Besides, Jack was way past baby talk. He could even speak some Spanish and French for heaven’s sake. How had Connor turned out so well? You’d think he’d still be calling bananas nanners, if that was how Agnes had talked to him. Agnes peeled the offending banana and was carefully slicing it up in small pieces on a china plate. Jack clapped his hands.
Myrtle said, impatiently, “So, what do you think happened to Tammy?” At Agnes’ uncomprehending frown, she elaborated. “Who did her in, Agnes? It wasn’t an accident, you know.”
Agnes frowned. “Where are my manners this morning? Would you like a Coca-Cola or a coffee, Myrtle?”
Myrtle, realizing gossip wouldn’t commence until all the pleasantries had been observed, agreed a Coke would be wonderful. When Agnes had given her the drink and a small napkin and once again addressed Jack with sickening baby talk, she sat down facing Myrtle.
“Maybe it was a drifter?” asked Agnes.
“I doubt there are vicious vagrants roaming Bradley. This was somebody Tammy knew. I’m sure of it.”
Agnes fiddled with her glass, swirling the ice cubes around and staring at the fizz. “We’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but we all wanted to kill her, after her performance at the salon. You know that.”
“She didn’t direct any barbs at me,” said Myrtle, somewhat indignant over Tammy’s discrimination against her. She absently watched Jack squeeze the banana through his fingers.
“She didn’t say anything directly against me, either, but got my back up teasing me about Connor.” Agnes’ face turned a spotty red with the memory. Myrtle wondered if Agnes took anything for high blood pressure.
“Did you see anything? You’ve got VIP seats at the Beauty Box, living right next door.”
“I didn’t see or hear a thing. I spent the evening reading.”
“The whole evening? It must have been a really absorbing book. What was the name of it?”
Agnes said with irritation, “I can’t remember anything these days. Some political thriller or other.”
That wasn’t likely. Agnes had a penchant for weighty biographies and a mind like a steel trap. Jack was now smearing the remains of the banana onto his arm. Figuring his finger painting would keep him occupied, Myrtle ignored it and changed tactics with Agnes. “Were Tammy and Connor happy together?”
Agnes gave a gloomy sigh. “They seemed to be. They were always going out to supper or to the movies. If Tammy was acting like her old self, I swear I wouldn’t have minded them dating. Drinking brought out the worst in her, though. I hated seeing the two of them together. To be perfectly honest,” Agnes said with a hard edge to her voice, “I’m not sorry she’s dead.”
Agnes finally noticed that Jack’s arm had a little banana sculpture on it and that he was now experimenting with banana as a hair conditioner. Clicking her tongue, she strode to the kitchen for some paper towels. She looked vigorous. Agnes was her friend, but she was certainly strong enough to plunge some scissors into someone’s back and push her down the stairs. Could she possibly have killed Tammy to keep her away from Connor? Myrtle wondered if any woman was good enough for Agnes’ Connor.
While Agnes used most of a paper towel roll to clean Jack up, Myrtle asked, “What was Tammy getting at with poor Prissy? And with Bootsie Davenport?”
Agnes shook her gray head. “She obviously thinks Bootsie is running around on her husband. Whether she knew something definite or not, I don’t know. Maybe Tammy saw Bootsie out with some man. Or maybe Bootsie told Tammy during Tammy’s more discreet days. But Prissy Daniels? I can’t imagine getting any dirt on her. She seems completely innocuous.”
Myrtle frowned. “Tammy might have been inventing trouble. She was picking at everybody else there, too. She sure made it hard to pin the murder on one person. I guess the main suspects must be Kat, Bootsie, Prissy, and Dina.”
Agnes said, “And probably me.” At Myrtle’s raised eyebrows, she added, “Oh, don’t act so innocent. You know I didn’t want Connor to date Tammy. I’ve been pretty open about that.” Agnes set down the almost empty roll of paper towels and gazed absently at the cleaner and shinier Jack.
“What about Bo? I remember hearing Tammy trash-talking him, saying how he mistreated her. I know their marriage ended badly.”
Agnes gave an unladylike snort. “She bullied him, you mean. Bo is too much a gentleman to talk ugly about a lady, so the slander remains.”
Jack, bored with the genteel and unchanging scenery offered by Agnes’ house, made a warning whine, so Myrtle cut the visit short. As she left, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Agnes knew more than she was letting on.