Myrtle Clover Mysteries

Chapter 2

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THE AFTERNOON FLEW by for Myrtle. Tomorrow’s Promise had actually been rather suspenseful with Sedate Homemaker Carrie brainwashed by Wicked Ethan into robbing a bank. The nap that Myrtle had planned on taking afterward hadn’t taken place, because her mind was so busy thinking about the soap and the scene that Miles and she had witnessed at the diner. When her son, Red, showed up at her door at around five o’clock, she frowned ferociously at him, unsure why he was there.

Red, of course, was always quick to attribute any forgetfulness on Myrtle’s part to the ravages of age. “Mama?” he asked. “Did you forget I was going to take you to the grocery store?”

Fortunately, Myrtle recovered quickly. “Certainly not. How could I forget when my cupboards are bare? No, I was simply stunned by your choice of attire, that’s all.”

She hid a smile as Red quickly glanced down at his clothing, allowing her time to calculate where she’d put her purse after she’d returned from the diner.

“Shorts and a golf shirt,” he muttered, almost to himself. “What’s wrong with what I’ve got on?”

“Oh, nothing. I suppose I’ve just gotten out of the habit of seeing you in short pants, that’s all. Ordinarily, when you escort me to the grocery store, you’re in your police uniform. It’s sort of fun being squired around by someone in uniform.”

“Next time I’ll remember the fact that you’re on a power trip,” said Red with a sigh.

It was extremely unfortunate that the grocery excursion had slipped Myrtle’s busy mind. She had no list to work from and no coupons from the paper. It was rare that she went to the store and paid face value for anything. Red knew this, too, and seemed determined in his best detective manner to ferret out the fact that his mother had indeed forgotten their foray to the store.

“Where’s your list, Mama?” he asked as he pushed her cart up aisle one.

“In my head,” she said with a sniff. “It’s an excellent mental acuity exercise, if you haven’t tried it.”

“No, I need the crutch of a list. Too much going through my mind to remember what we’re out of.” He paused as Myrtle squinted at a shelf, grabbed a couple of things, and threw them in the buggy. “You usually have a bunch of coupons, too. Did the paper not deliver them this week?”

She’d have used that excuse if she could, but since Red knew everyone in town, he’d have asked her delivery person to give him coupons for her. Myrtle gritted her teeth. Her backup strategy was to purchase items that were on sale at the store. And then, of course, to pick up her regular staples of milk and bread since they rarely had coupons, anyway. Surely she could make a meal out of the store’s weekly specials. However, this method involved a tedious trip up each aisle, peering at small yellow sales tags that the store placed on the shelves.

“I didn’t need the coupons this week, as a matter of fact. It was an amazing thing. Everything I needed at the store was on sale in the grocery flyer.” Myrtle reached for a bottle on the shelf. She decided a change of subject was in order to throw Police Chief Red off her scent. “I was wondering, Red, what you knew about this play.”

“What play?” asked Red absently. He was staring at the contents of Myrtle’s cart which now consisted of quite a few condiments, including a large bottle of barbeque sauce. “Planning a barbeque, Mama?”

Myrtle decided to ignore the question altogether. “The play that you were planning on seeing tonight. With Elaine.”

Red watched as his mother put a jar of pimentos into the cart. And then a second jar. “Oh, that. Well, you know how Elaine gets fixated on these different hobbies and things. We’ve suffered through photography and knitting and painting. She’s very talented, it’s just that she hasn’t really settled on a pastime that ... well, that showcases her talent.”

“So her involvement with the community theater is a hobby then, like the others?”

“Not exactly. This time it’s different. She realizes that she probably doesn’t have the time to be part of the cast. That’s a lot of practicing, and with my job, sometimes I’m not home at a predictable time. And Jack being so little and all ... you know.” His face brightened as Myrtle finally turned the corner to aisle two.

“Elaine is volunteering her time there, then,” said Myrtle. “I see. So she’s spending enough time to form an opinion of the cast.”

Red had the uncomfortable look of someone who was being put to the test and realized a strong possibility that he might fail. “I suppose she would have, yes. Hey, I see these baked beans are on sale—want some baked beans?”

Myrtle was still trying to maintain the fiction that she was working off a mental list. “No, I don’t need any baked beans, thank you. What does Elaine think of the cast of this current show?”

Red cleared his throat and seemed to be anxiously casting back in the recesses of his memory for any half-listened-to conversations. “Let’s see. She did say that there was a woman there who was very obnoxious. Sort of a diva.”

Probably Nandina. “Is she fighting with the rest of the cast?” Myrtle absently threw a can of early peas into her buggy, followed by another one.

“That’s what I don’t know. I only know she’s making trouble.” Red turned to give her a searching look. “Why are you so interested in the cast of this play? You’re not making trouble yourself, are you?”

“Of course not. Miles and I were at Bo’s Diner for lunch today and saw the cast eating there and squabbling like children. I wondered how much Elaine knew about them, that’s all—considering that Miles and I are going to be watching the play tonight.” Myrtle frowned at the shelf. It was difficult to pretend to be working off a mental list, figure out more about the cast members, and actually find low-priced food all at the same time.

“I’m sure, like with anything, the more time you spend with someone, the more opportunity you have to get annoyed by them.” Red gave his mother a long-suffering look as if she were the perfect illustration of this concept. “Say, do you think we can move through the next aisle a little faster? At this rate, you’ll be too late to even see the show tonight.”

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AT PRECISELY SEVEN-thirty, Myrtle’s doorbell rang. She opened the door and blinked at Miles for a moment. “Miles! You’re wearing a suit!”

“Naturally,” said Miles stiffly. “We’re going to the theater.” He studied Myrtle’s comfortable dark slacks, sensible shoes, and white tunic. “Aren’t we? It doesn’t look like you’re ready to go. Didn’t we say seven-thirty?”

Myrtle stood aside to allow Miles to step in. “This is community theater, Miles. There’s no need to look that nice at any art venue in Bradley. I feel as if I’m being accompanied by a waiter.”

Miles sighed. “I’ll leave the jacket here.”

“Can you leave the tie here, too?”

“Then I’d look silly,” said Miles.

“I suppose we don’t have time for you to change.” Myrtle picked up her pocketbook and fished the tickets out.

“It won’t take that long for us to get to the theater,” said Miles reasonably. “I can make a quick change.”

“But these are general admission tickets,” said Myrtle, peering at them. “Pooh. I should have noticed that. Technically, we should already be in line to ensure a good seat.”

Miles was looking less and less amused about their evening out.

Myrtle made a quick about-face in the interest of time. “Actually, you look very handsome. It’s good to show respect for the actors and the production, isn’t it? Let’s head out. Otherwise, we won’t even have time to grab a wine at the concession stand before going in.”

Myrtle, never one to be late, was tense in the car on the way over. But as soon as they strolled into the small theater downtown, she started to relax. “There aren’t so many people here. We should be able to get a good seat.”

Miles muttered, “May have something to do with the name of the play. Malaise doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as Fiddler on the Roof.”

“Let’s get that wine,” said Myrtle.

A few minutes later, wine in hand, they entered the theater. They were able to sit on the second row. And, since the seats were arranged stadium-style, they could see the stage perfectly.

Miles studied the program. “There doesn’t seem to be an intermission,” he fretted.

“Well, that’s all right, isn’t it? The play will be over sooner.” Myrtle watched the feet she could see under the small gap under the closed curtain on the stage.

“It’s just that with all this wine, I’ll have to visit the men’s room,” he sighed.

Myrtle switched seats with him so that Miles could sit on the aisle.

Right before the curtain went up, the theater owner, a Mr. Toucan, spoke a few words about the production and asked them to turn their phones off. He was a large man who wore an olive tie over a rather dingy khaki button-down shirt. He had orange hair and a matching mustache, and wore over-sized glasses and a pocket protector. “You’re in for a treat tonight, ladies and gentlemen!” he promised.

“I don’t think I know Mr. Toucan,” murmured Miles.

“He used to own the pet food store,” said Myrtle. “But apparently, owning a community theater has been his lifelong dream.”

“Imagine that,” said Miles in a stunned voice.

“We can’t all be CPAs, Miles,” said Myrtle reprovingly.

“Can’t all be engineers, you mean. I was an engineer,” said Miles in a tight voice.

“Same thing.”

As much as Myrtle was determined to enjoy her arts outing, she had to admit that the play was odd. It opened with a flashback of some sort. Then most of the actors had asides with the audience, breaking down the fourth wall in a way that Myrtle found distracting. There was then a set change behind the curtain with very loud music accompanying it. When the curtain opened, the stage was set for a dream sequence, complete with actress Veronica doing some sort of dreamy dancing while actress Nandina “slept” on a bed on the stage.

Myrtle glanced over at Miles. He appeared to be engaged in a dream sequence of his own. Myrtle elbowed him and he awoke with a start. “You’re missing it,” hissed Myrtle.

“I liked the performance in the diner better,” whispered Miles.

Myrtle frowned. “What’s going on now?” she said.

Nandina appeared to have missed a cue. The actor that they knew as Skip was repeating loudly, “Good morning, darling,” to a very still Nandina.

“Perhaps Nandina has fallen asleep, too,” suggested Miles dryly.

Skip apparently suspected so, too. He walked over to the bed and seemed to improvise a little. “I know it’s hard to wake up and face the day sometimes, dear, but we simply must, mustn’t we?”

Miles made a face at the stilted dialogue.

Skip lightly touched Nandina’s face. Then he abruptly dropped character and more roughly tugged her arm. Finally giving up all pretense of being in character, he said, “Nandina! Nandina!” He turned to look offstage. “She’s not breathing!”