Chapter Sixteen
Myrtle walked into downtown Bradley as soon as the shops opened. There was a small sporting goods store that had been in the same location for the past sixty years. It had probably been forty years since she’d last been in there—getting a football or a baseball for Red.
This time was slightly different. The clerk looked doubtfully at her. “Red pepper spray?” he asked. “Is that something you think you’ll really need here in Bradley? With a cop living right across the street from you?”
This was another former student of hers. He was elderly too, as many of her former students now were. “Look, Mike, you know what happened in my backyard; not once, but twice. I think I need all the self-protection I can get.”
She’d leveled the same look at him that she had when he’d been talking in her class so many years before.
He sighed. “I won’t argue with you, Mrs. Clover. I just didn’t want to take advantage of you by taking your money for a product you probably won’t be using, that’s all.”
Wasn’t he still arguing with her, in a backhanded way? She kept staring ferociously at him as he rung up her purchase.
Once that errand was finally successfully finished, Myrtle headed home. She’d like some motion detector lights and to have her locks changed, too. Since her handyman was murdered, this was going to be tricky. She certainly didn’t want to ask Red to do it, because it would start worrying him again and all she needed was to be sent to Greener Pastures retirement home.
“Dan could do it for you,” said a gravelly voice behind her. Myrtle jumped violently and swung around, holding her cane out in front of her.
Wanda stood there, straggly-looking as usual, watching her with those dark eyes.
It was very disconcerting that Wanda appeared to know about the security measures that she wanted to have done at her house. “What do you mean?” asked Myrtle in a voice that came out haughtier than she’d intended.
Wanda stretched out a nicotine-stained hand to gesture at the paper bag that Myrtle carried. “You’re wanting to change your locks and put up more lights, right? Same type thing as the spray. You want to be safe. Dan can help you.”
Clearly, Wanda had observed her in the sporting goods store as she purchased the pepper spray. She’d probably also run into Erma this morning. No doubt, Erma was telling half the town about her new motion detector lights and how they helped to chase away a villain in her elderly neighbor’s yard. But changing the locks? She couldn’t think of a way that Wanda would know about that. Myrtle shivered. Then she shook it off.
“Crazy Dan can help me put new locks in and motion detectors?” Myrtle wasn’t even sure that Dan and Wanda’s hubcap-covered shack had a lock on it at all. It certainly didn’t have motion detectors. It might not even consistently have electricity, depending on how often they paid their bills.
“Used to be a locksmith a long time ago,” said Wanda with a shrug of an emaciated shoulder. “Sometimes does odd jobs.”
“Okay,” said Myrtle. “I guess he’s hired, then. Can you get him to come over later this afternoon to do the jobs?”
Wanda gave her a steady look. “Since I sorta knew this was going to happen, I brought him along.” She pointed across the street and Crazy Dan gave them a lackadaisical wave from where he stood, propped up against a streetlamp.
This precognition was an irritating thing. It made you feel like you were always one-step behind. “All right then,” said Myrtle a bit huffily, “have your brother run by the hardware store and pick up the locks and the motion detector lights.”
“Already dunnit,” said Wanda. She nodded at Crazy Dan and he held up a plastic bag.
“Then have him go back to the hardware store and get a couple of extra sets of the keys,” said Myrtle, through gritted teeth.
“Already dunnit,” said Wanda, nodding at Crazy Dan again. Dan held up a smaller, brown bag that apparently held extra keys.
“Fine,” said Myrtle. “Then I’ll just meet you back at the house.” Sometimes living in this town made her feel like part of a circus.
Wanda started loping off and Myrtle stopped her. “Say, Wanda, can’t you tell me anything useful? I don’t really need to know that you were five steps ahead of me on my home security project, but I’d love to know who the person behind all this is.”
Wanda just looked sad. “It don’t work that way.”
“Don’t it?” asked Myrtle. Then she sighed. She hoped Wanda and Crazy Dan’s grammar wasn’t catching.
“Nope. I just take the visions as they come. I been blocked on these murders,” said Wanda.
“You didn’t seem all that blocked the day I came to see you,” said Myrtle, raising her eyebrows. “I swore then that you knew something about Charles’s death. From the night you were out there, trying to keep an eye on Miles. I think you saw something…not a vision. You saw something with your eyes.”
Wanda gave her a startled look, then glanced away.
“Wanda! Tell me what you saw!”
The psychic made a deep, rattling smoker’s sigh. Then she said, “I saw Lee Woosley talking with Charles down at your dock. They was arguin’.”
“Did you hear what they were arguing about? Did you see the murder?”
Wanda frowned. “Naw. I left. Figured I’d got my visions messed up. Didn’t want to say nuthin’ because I didn’t want that guy to come after me and Dan. And I ain’t had any visions about who done this. But I do get a feeling out of them. More than one.”
Myrtle could guess what one of them would be. You didn’t go hitting people over the head with gnomes and shovels unless you were angry.
“Anger is one,” said Wanda, proving Myrtle right. “And the other is fear.”
A potent combination, for sure.
Back at her house, Crazy Dan swiftly installed the motion detector lights. He put the extra keys on Myrtle’s counter, then got his battered toolbox out to change out the locks on the doors.
Myrtle hesitated. “Oh—Crazy Dan. Can you come back in a few days and put those in?”
Wanda raised her penciled-in eyebrows at her and Myrtle was pleased that she actually did have the ability to surprise the woman.
“A few days?” asked Crazy Dan. “You might be dead by then.”
“Yes, thank you, I’m well-aware of that fact. Nevertheless, that’s what I’d like. Come back in a few days to do the work.”
Crazy Dan closed up his toolbox, rolled his eyes at Wanda, and loped out to whatever beat-up vehicle had brought them here.
Wanda lingered for a moment. She rasped in her ruined voice, “Don’t play games.”
“Wanda, I’ll stop you right there. I already know what you’re going to say. I’m in danger. That’s your usual broken-record prediction for me. But do you know what? I’m in danger just getting up every morning, even when there’s not a murderer within two hundred miles of here. I’m in danger just stepping in and out of my shower and treading on throw rugs, and climbing staircases. It’s not slowing me down, though, and I’m not going to live the short remainder of my life in fear of bathtubs or murderers.” Myrtle raised her chin.
This time there was admiration in Wanda’s eyes instead of trepidation. She nodded thoughtfully, then joined Crazy Dan to go home.
Myrtle got on her computer and wrote a blog post for the Bradley Bugle. It was a good thing Red never read the paper’s blog, because he would hit the ceiling if he read this post.
Then Myrtle sat in front of Tomorrow’s Promise and did chair exercises for thirty minutes. Because Wanda was right—she was in danger.
That night was uneventful and the following day was, too. Myrtle had planned on working on the case, but Elaine had asked her if she could watch Jack for her while she ran some errands. Jack had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion after playing trucks with Myrtle for over an hour. While he napped, Myrtle wrote another quick story for the Bradley Bugle. There wasn’t any news to report, but Sloan would get itchy if there w
eren’t any updates.
In the middle of the night, Myrtle’s motion detectors went off. Heart pounding, Myrtle grabbed her pepper spray and her cane. Keeping the lights off, she headed toward her kitchen window.
Peeking out into the yard, Myrtle saw Pasha the cat, blinking in the harsh lighting. But there was something dead in her yard again. A snake.
Myrtle opened her window to speak to the animal. “Pasha,” she hissed. “Hope you’re going to eat that.”
Pasha looked noncommittally back at her.
Great.
Myrtle put the window down and decided to manually turn off the motion detectors for the rest of the night. One of her bedroom windows faced the backyard and the glow of the lights was going to keep her up all night. She wondered if she’d made an error in getting them installed. Pasha might be tripping them every night. Besides, if she was trying to trap this murderer, it really didn’t make sense to use the motion detectors until after he was caught. The lights were sure to scare off any intruders.
She walked back to her bedroom and stared at the bed. Did she feel sleepy? No. As usual, she was wide awake. No point in thrashing around in the bed, failing abysmally at sleeping if you were completely awake. Her stomach growled. A midnight snack would be good. She glanced at the clock. Or, rather, a three o’clock snack.
Myrtle turned on her lights and made a pimento cheese sandwich. When there was a light tapping at her backdoor, she nearly jumped through the roof.
She picked up her pepper spray again and hurried to the door. It was Miles. “I saw your lights on,” he said gruffly.
Myrtle held open the door, slumping in relief against the doorjamb. “You’re not a killer,” she muttered.
“Were you expecting one?” asked Miles mildly. Myrtle noticed that he appeared to be a bit flushed.
“Yes,” said Myrtle. “As a matter of fact, I was. Killers seem to be using my backyard as a hangout. What brings you here?”
Miles was having a tough time making eye contact with Myrtle. He cleared his throat, paused, then cleared his throat again. Finally, he sighed. “I miss you.”
Myrtle felt her mouth sag open and she snapped it shut, waiting to see what he might say next.
Miles took his glasses off and carefully cleaned a real or imagined smudge from them. “I’d always thought our friendship was sort of a one-way street. You seemed like you needed me more than I needed you—you needed somebody to visit with in the middle of the night, you needed a sounding board, you needed a ride, you needed a sidekick.”
Myrtle nodded. It had felt unbalanced sometimes. Although she tended to ignore the imbalance, figuring Miles needed her too—somehow.
He cleared his throat again. “Yesterday, I had another ridiculously pointless and monotonous board meeting to go to.”
Miles was on the board for several nonprofits. It drove him crazy, which made Myrtle wonder why he kept ending up on boards.
“After I was finally out of there, all I could think of was that I wanted to call you up so we could laugh at the pretentious people who ran the meeting,” said Miles.
“The ones who love to hear themselves talk?” asked Myrtle. “And who use all that business jargon?”
“Where they blather on and on and never really say anything. At least, nothing that makes any sense,” said Miles with another sigh.
“It does make a vapid meeting better when you can tear it apart with a friend afterward,” said Myrtle thoughtfully.
“And I had to go to a dentist in Simonton,” said Miles gloomily. “To have my tooth filled.”
“Oh. I guess you didn’t want to go to Dr. Bass.”
“I did call Bass’s office, actually. I had a follow-up visit planned for next week, but the tooth was starting to bother me so I tried to get worked in. But he was taking a couple of days off,” said Miles. “So I went to another dentist. I realized that I was more relaxed going to the dentist when you were with me.”
Interesting. He hadn’t appeared all that relaxed when they’d gone to Dr. Bass’s office. But she wasn’t going to dissuade him from his fond remembrances.
“Plus, you got me hooked on that stupid show,” muttered Miles.
“What’s that?” asked Myrtle, blinking innocently.
“You made me addicted to that dumb soap opera of yours!”
“You mean Tomorrow’s Promise?” asked Myrtle.
“Yes. And I feel terrible watching it by myself, because it’s a guilty pleasure. I need you to watch it with me. Somehow it doesn’t seem so awful to watch it when it’s a group activity.”
“Do two people make a group?” asked Myrtle in a doubtful voice. “I thought two people were just a couple.”
“Then I kept wondering what was going on with the case. So you’ve even got me hooked on sleuthing.” Miles held out a hand. “Can we be friends again?”
Myrtle solemnly shook his hand.
“And now that that’s done,” said Miles, “can you fill me in with what you’re doing to nab the murderer? Because I’m sure you’re probably close to doing so.”
“Well, I’ve written a post for the Bradley Bugle’s blog revealing my investigative journalism was uncovering some important clues that seemed to lead to a particular individual. Then I added that once I pieced together all the parts of the puzzle, I would be sharing my findings with the state police and the Bugle’s readers would get a front-row seat for the show.”
“I see,” said Miles. “You’re expecting whoever has been trying to scare you off to come back over and silence you for good.”
“Something like that,” said Myrtle. “But I technically wasn’t expecting the murderer to try to kill me tonight because I scheduled the post to run tomorrow morning. And I’m very glad you came by because I was going to swallow my pride and ask you if you could be my backup tomorrow night.”
For once, Miles didn’t do any of the hemming and hawing that he usually did when Myrtle asked for his help with a case. He really must have missed being involved. “Sure,” he said, “what do you need me to do?”
“Are you free tomorrow?” asked Myrtle.
“Sure—I don’t think I have anything going on tomorrow.”
“Do you want to have a sleepover?” asked Myrtle.
Miles frowned at her. “Making up is one thing, Myrtle, but pretending that we’re six years old is something else.”
“No, no, I mean could you come over here for a stakeout? After the post runs on the Bugle blog, and after I start blabbing about my progress around town tomorrow morning, I think the murderer might make another trip over to my house tomorrow night. That means I can catch him in the act, since I don’t have any proof about my suspicions.”
Miles said, “So you know who did it?”
“They’re only suspicions. I’ll know for sure tomorrow night. So, do you just want to pull an all-nighter? We could just hang out in the living room with the lights out. Maybe read with some book lights.”
“Sounds exciting,” said Miles, rolling his eyes. “Won’t Erma find an excuse to come over so that she can spy on us and see if we’re embroiled in a secret romance?”
“Nope. I’ve found a way to scare her off. Photo albums. She’s apparently just as allergic to photo albums as she is to cats. Which is good, because my photo albums are always around and Pasha is unreliable.”
“We might end up with all kinds of excitement,” continued Myrtle. “So, if someone breaks into my house with the door key, you’ll just duck out of sight. I’ll have my pepper spray and my cane and you can surprise them when they get close. Does that sound reasonable?”
“I don’t know if anything having to do with two elderly crime-fighters attacking a murderer in the middle of the night is reasonable, but it’s doable. What time do you want me to come over tomorrow evening?” asked Miles.
“Not too early, because this guy will probably come by in the middle of the night,” said Myrtle.
“Well, or in broad daylight,” said Miles. ?
??What about Lee? He was killed at something like ten o’clock in the morning.”
“But the murderer’s goal was obviously not to be detected. And when was he most likely to go undetected? When everyone on this street was at Charles Clayborne’s funeral. So I’m thinking this killer is clever enough not to want to show up at my house when the neighbors are still stirring and might look out their windows.”
“You’re thinking I should come over around eleven or so?” asked Miles.
“I think so. And just be very surreptitious when you do. Don’t be jingling change in your pocket or whistling or anything like that.”
“Like I ever do,” said Miles with a sigh. And they both grinned at each other. Things were happily back to normal.