A Body at Book Club

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty!” The shadows were getting longer now and Myrtle devoutly hoped that Pasha was simply hearing Myrtle’s calls and not deigning to respond—that she was just being cat-like and not hurt...or worse.

She dropped the tuna can and made a face as it splattered all over Lula Franklin’s driveway and Myrtle’s sensible SAS shoes. “Shoot,” muttered Myrtle. Then she called hopefully again, “Kitty, kitty?”

Unfortunately, the only response her call solicited was a gruff, “Hey, Mama.”

She turned toward the street to see Red in his police cruiser. “No luck?” he asked, with a sigh.

Myrtle shook her head. She was furious at the tears pricking her eyes and gave a ferocious sniff.

“I was getting reports of a confused-looking elderly woman trespassing in yards and talking to herself. Figured I knew who it was,” said Red.

Myrtle’s tears instantly dried up. She glared at Red. “You made that up,” she gritted out through her teeth. “Everyone in this town knows who I am...they would never have said elderly woman.”

Red put the car in park and walked around to hold open the passenger side door. “You’re right. They said, ‘Red, your mama has lost her mind and is trampling my marigolds.’”

“There are no marigolds in this driveway,” protested Myrtle. Then she caught sight of a bed of rather flattened marigolds a couple of yards away and bit her lip. She walked to the car and carefully stooped to climb in and muttered, “Silly Lula. Those are zinnias, not marigolds.”

Red got back behind the wheel. “I bet you don’t have your cell phone with you, either.”

She frowned at him and he continued, “I tried calling you earlier. You know, I’d feel a whole lot better about you off-roading through people’s yards if I knew you had a phone to call for help if you fell.”

Myrtle fumed. Mainly because she knew he was right and she despised his being right. It was very hard to get into the habit of carrying a cell phone around, though. “I left the house in a hurry, you know.”

“Did you even lock your door?” asked Red with a sigh. “Never mind. I bet you didn’t. Even if you did, did you call Dusty to ask him to help you replace that deadbolt on your back door? It’s not sliding in right. Half the time I think you’ve got the door unlocked...even at night.”

“He’s put me on his schedule,” said Myrtle. This, actually, was a bald-faced lie. She hadn’t gotten around to calling Dusty yet, but she’d figured she’d just grab him when he came around to cut her grass. Trouble was, he hadn’t mowed lately, either.

“All right,” said Red dubiously. “If he doesn’t fix it soon, let me know and I’ll take care of it for you.”

“I feel pretty safe anyway, Red. This is Bradley, North Carolina. Population fifteen-hundred. And you are the police chief.”

“My job as chief fills me in on how unsafe the town is. It’s mostly piddly stuff, but a break-in is a break-in,” said Red. He looked over moodily at her as they approached her driveway. “I feel as if I’m not doing right by you, Mama. You’re going to end up with a serious injury and I’m going to feel guilty.”

This conversation seemed to be moving in a direction that Myrtle didn’t want to head in. She hurriedly said, “I’ll start carrying the phone, Red. You’re absolutely right.”

Red blinked in surprise at the unexpected agreement from his mother. “I bet Pasha will come back tonight or tomorrow for sure. The dogs are out of her way now and she’ll see that she doesn’t have to hide. You’ll see.”

That night, Myrtle put a can of tuna outside. In the morning, it was gone.

Myrtle was bringing in the empty can when she saw a donkey-like face staring at her over the top of the fence and she nearly dropped the can. “Erma!” she snapped at her neighbor. “What are you doing up there? You scared me half to death.” Erma always seemed to have some sort of excuse to be peering up over the fence. It was, in fact, a privacy fence. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be affording her the privacy she most wanted.

“Oh, I had my stepladder out to clean some windows and thought I’d see what you were up to, Myrtle. You know how I like to keep an eye out for you. I want to be a good neighbor.” Erma gave her a toothy grin.

“If you really want to be a good neighbor, you could do something about that crabgrass,” said Myrtle sternly.

Erma gave a braying laugh, revealing her large, protruding teeth. “Myrtle, you crack me up. You really do. You’re such a character.”

It was amazing that Erma was a devoted garden club member and yet didn’t give a fig about her yard.

Erma quickly changed tack. “Say. Are you going to the book club meeting today? It’s at Rose’s house. We’re discussing The November Choice.”

Myrtle sighed. “I suppose so, yes.” The November Choice sounded like yet another book about a middle-aged woman trying to jump-start her life after a divorce. She might have to bring earplugs to use during the discussion.

“That’s good. After you didn’t make it to garden club, I was getting worried about you. Maybe you had a cold, I thought. That’s why I’m checking on you now.” Erma gestured down in the direction of the stepladder. “My great aunt died from a cold, did you know that? It went down into her chest and became bronchitis and then pneumonia.”

Erma had a great fondness for recounting medical detail and had quite a memory for it. Myrtle tried to redirect her. Erma was hugely annoying in almost every possible way—but she did know a good deal of gossip.

“By the way, since we’re talking about garden club and book club,” Myrtle hoped that she could redirect her in that direction, anyway, “do you know much about Naomi Pelter? I ran into her yesterday and realized I’d never really talked with her. What does she do?”

Erma grinned. “She bothers people. She flirts with women’s husbands and asks them to do all kinds of favors for her—fix her stopped-up sink, clear out her gutters, mow her grass, do odd jobs around her house. And she seems kind of lazy. She doesn’t have a job, even though she isn’t married.”

“How does she get any income, then?”

“Rumor has it that she has family money. They say that as long as she budgets sensibly, she should have enough cash for the long haul. Can you imagine?” said Erma wide-eyed.

Myrtle couldn’t. She was too used to living on her social security and teacher’s retirement.

“Do you remember when Naomi moved into town?” asked Myrtle, furrowing her brow.

“It was five or six years ago. Not long.”

Myrtle nodded. “Interesting. All right, well, I’ve got to be going in now and have some breakfast. Pasha is missing, so if you see her around, could you let me know? Or maybe catch her and put her in your house and call me?”

Erma’s face turned ashen. She was no fan of Pasha’s—and vice versa. “Catch her? I’ll probably just call you, Myrtle. Pasha and I don’t ever get along. Besides, I’m allergic. I shouldn’t have her in my house. That’s why I have a goldfish for a pet. And Pasha probably wouldn’t get along with my goldfish, either.”

Myrtle nodded, waved, and started heading toward her door.

“See you at book club!” chirped Erma.

Myrtle’s head started hurting.

That afternoon, Myrtle sat glumly in Rose Mayfield’s carefully manicured backyard. She hadn’t realized it was going to be an outdoor meeting when she’d worn her black slacks and long-sleeved yellow top. Now her color choice made her feel like another bumblebee in Rose’s garden. She nodded to friend and neighbor, Miles, as he arrived clutching this month’s selection. He appeared to take note of Myrtle’s mood and avoided her by immediately going over to talk with an immaculately dressed Blanche Clark. Myrtle made careful note of where Erma Sherman was so that she could avoid her at all costs. She spotted her monopolizing a conversation with Georgia Simpson and quickly chose a chair far away from her.

The meeting was finally about to start after what seemed like an interminable period of socializing. “I don’t see Naomi Pelter here,” Myrtle said to Rose. This made Myrtle feel somewhat put out, since Rose had used Naomi as an excuse to get Myrtle to attend the meeting. And Naomi had told Myrtle that she was planning on coming to mend some fences with Rose over the landscaping kerfuffle.

Rose pursed her lips and said, “A huge relief, I must say. Naomi sent me an email from her phone yesterday evening saying she was very sick and couldn’t come to book club. Naturally, if she’s very sick, we don’t want her at book club.”

“That’s the truth,” said Myrtle. She was cursing the fact that she hadn’t thought to use illness as an excuse, herself.

“I’m only hoping that there will be no chainsaw racket during our meeting. They seemed to be done with most of the cutting yesterday evening—I certainly hope that’s the case.” Rose’s face grew mottled with emotion again. “It simply makes me sick to think about the poor trees and shrubs being annihilated over there. Perhaps, if it starts up again, I can get all of us to band together to protest. A protest would certainly be more effective with more people involved.”

“Maybe she called off her landscapers, since she isn’t feeling well,” said Myrtle.

“Let’s hope,” said Rose fervently. She glanced at her watch and said, “I think it’s time for us to start the meeting. I’m taking over as president for Tippy today, since I’m hostess and since she couldn’t make it.”

“Could I address the book club first?” asked Myrtle. “I wanted to make sure everyone knew about Pasha.”

Rose looked at her blankly.

“My cat. You know,” said Myrtle impatiently. For heaven’s sake, that was the whole reason she’d been in Rose’s yard yesterday. You’d think she’d remember.

“Oh. All right then,” said Rose reluctantly. She gathered her skirts and sat on a metal folding chair.

Myrtle stood up and walked to the front of the assembled chairs. She cleared her throat and everyone gradually stopped their various conversations. “Before we get started,” said Myrtle, “I wanted to make an announcement.”

Everyone stared in surprise at her.

“It’s my cat, Pasha,” said Myrtle. “Well, she’s not exactly my cat. She’s really her own cat. She lets me feed her and pet her, you see.” Everyone frowned in concentration as if trying very hard to understand. “Anyway, she’s a black cat and she’s missing. A gang of bad dogs chased her and I don’t even know if she’s hurt.” She had to choke out the last few words and that made her furious. “Call me if you see her, please.”

Now everyone was giving her sympathetic looks—even Miles, who Myrtle was sure had secretly despised Pasha since an unfortunate attack some time ago. She’d firmly believed Miles was in the wrong that time, though. Myrtle felt that prickling behind her eyes again and hurried toward Rose’s back door for a tissue. Myrtle heard Rose saying behind her, “Well, I’m sure we’ll all keep an eye out for the cat. Now let’s move on to this month’s meeting. There’s other business to attend to before we discuss The November Choice .”

Myrtle walked through Rose’s porch to the back door and inside the house. The first thing she noticed was that Rose’s front door was wide open. Myrtle frowned. There really were some squirrelly members in book club. You’d think someone would notice that they’d left a door wide open, though. No one had been raised in a barn that she was aware of.

She started toward the front door, and then froze at an acrid odor. Myrtle lowered her gaze...and spotted a very dead Naomi Pelter on Rose’s hardwood floor.