A Myrtle Clover Cozy Mystery

Chapter 2

“Me? I think your gift is a wee bit off today. I was in danger—Erma Sherman unexpectedly came back into town and I fell trying to flee. But now I’m just fine. We were just talking about you—Miles and I are playing cards and thinking of you.”

Wanda’s voice was persistent. “Not the fall. Somethin’ else. Gotta be careful.”

Myrtle sighed. “This is the problem with the Sight, Wanda. It’s a very vague thing. Is the danger from a person? A bad bit of seafood? A drunk driver? When it’s this indefinite, I feel as if I’ve got to be alert from peril from all directions. It’s most stressful.”

Wanda said slowly, “It ain’t how the Sight works.”

“Yes, I know. It’s still all very annoying, though.” Myrtle paused. “You wouldn’t happen to want to come down and play cards would you? Miles would be delighted to pick you up.”

Miles’s face, however, was something less than delighted.

Wanda said, “Can’t today. Gotta bunch of customers comin’ up.”

“Oh, to get their palms read? Well, that certainly sounds lucrative. What kind of group is it?”

“Some sorta hen party,” said Wanda.

“Well, hopefully you don’t see anything too dire. They’re probably all expecting to hear they’re about to discover their one true love. Instead, you’ll end up telling them they need to go to the doctor because they’re about to get shingles. At any rate, it’s good you’re getting some business. Which reminds me—I’ll need to get the horoscopes from you soon.”

“Phone’s gonna die,” said Wanda in a very straightforward manner.

“Now? Well, hang up with me and charge it.”

“No—gonna die soon and I’ll need a new one.”

Myrtle said, “Well then, I’ll just drive up and see you then. Take care, Wanda.” She hung up. “Wanda seems to need a new cell phone.”

Miles gave her a gloomy look. “I suppose I’ll be funding that new phone.”

“Not at all. Remember, that’s the phone Sloan provided to her so they could get her horoscopes in a timely fashion. He’ll simply need to give her a replacement. I’ll follow up with him about it.”

The two continued playing Hearts and then ended up making themselves grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner before watching an intriguing, although rather confusing, documentary on black holes.

“What is mass again?” asked Myrtle with a frown.

Miles answered, “It’s a matter of physics. Basically, it’s the resistance—”

“You can stop right there. I can tell it’s one of those definitions that ends up being harder to understand than the word itself.”

Miles said, “That’s nothing compared to the distortion of the space-time fabric.”

“There’s only one thing that will fix my confusion, Miles. A game show.”

Which was when they ended up watching Wheel of Fortune.

The afternoon and evening had been so unexpectedly absorbing that it wasn’t until quite late that Myrtle realized Dusty and Puddin hadn’t made an appearance.

“Those two!” she bellowed. “I’ll give them a piece of my mind.”

But when she called them on the phone, they didn’t answer.

“Maybe something came up,” said Miles with a shrug.

“Of course it didn’t! This is par for the course for those two. They didn’t feel like coming. They’ll probably show up tomorrow morning acting as if they didn’t understand my instructions. I have book club tomorrow and Puddin will likely still be slouching around, doing my housekeeping in slow motion.”

Miles said, “I should get back home and get some rest. It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow.” He was especially ready to escape since it appeared Myrtle would be stewing over the disappearance of Dusty and Puddin for some time.

And indeed she did. She was up all night glaring at the ceiling and completely awake. Ordinarily she’d walk down to Miles’s house to wake him up and sit around doing puzzles. But she refrained from doing it this time. He had seemed tired, after all. She congratulated herself for her restraint and thoughtfulness.

Instead, she called Dusty and Puddin. It was three a.m. and she knew the two of them would certainly not still be out painting the town. All of Bradley’s local attractions closed for the night at midnight.

Puddin answered the phone in a panic. “What’s goin’ on?”

“What’s going on is that I’m fretting over my messy house and can’t sleep, Puddin. I thought I’d share my insomnia with you.”

“It’s the middle of the night!”

Myrtle said, “Welcome to my world. I only wish I could sleep, but I’m so worried about book club coming over to my untidy home that I can’t do it.”

Puddin grumbled something that Myrtle couldn’t quite make out. Then she said, more clearly, “Guess I’ll come by in the morning.”

“It’s morning now,” Myrtle pointed out helpfully. “And you’re awake.”

“I ain’t cleanin’ nothin’ at this time of the mornin’.”

Myrtle said, “Aha! That’s a double negative, Puddin. So you will clean something at this hour.”

Puddin seemed to be at the end of her rope now. “Talk English, Miz Myrtle.”

“That’s what I’m doing. Oh, never mind. Come by as soon as you can this morning, Puddin. I don’t have time for any of this nonsense. And make sure Dusty is in the car with you. I need those gnomes put out asap.”

Puddin hung up abruptly, still muttering to herself.

Myrtle, having resolved her housework, managed to fall into a lovely, albeit short, sleep.

It was lucky for Dusty and Puddin that they did come by the house at a fairly early hour. Neither of them looked as if they were accustomed to being up and about at that time. Dusty had the biggest Styrofoam cup of coffee that Myrtle had ever seen—and a straw protruding from it. Myrtle had never seen anyone gulp coffee through a straw before but Dusty appeared to be mastering the activity.

“Hi there, Dusty!” she called out cheerfully from her front porch.

Dusty muttered something under his breath and lifted his hand in a short wave.

“It’s a pity they can’t figure out a way to infuse people with a coffee IV, isn’t it?” asked Myrtle.

Dusty said in a pointed way, “If you get good sleep, you don’t need as much coffee.”

Myrtle raised an eyebrow. “I suppose. But if you’d come yesterday, as I indicated you should, then you wouldn’t have had to be here this morning.”

Puddin’ slouched toward Myrtle’s house, her pale face showing her deep unhappiness at the prospect of chasing Myrtle’s dust bunnies around.

“Where are your cleaning supplies?” asked Myrtle, scowling ferociously at her cleaning woman.

“Yonder,” said Puddin, nodding indifferently toward Dusty’s truck.

“Then I suggest you go find them. Mine are in low supply after you used them last time and my budget for the week doesn’t include replacing them.”

Puddin made a scoffing noise, whether at the accusation she’d used the supplies up or at the fact that Myrtle used a working budget, it wasn’t clear.

“What’re we doin’ with them gnomes now?” asked Dusty, a distasteful look on his face.

“Like I said before—you’re setting them out in lines like an army. Not just randomly like you usually do. I want them set out with military precision, facing Red’s house.”

Dusty nodded and wordlessly stomped off to start the chore.

Myrtle went back into the house to see how Puddin was coming along. It turned out she was moving very sluggishly and was hovering around Myrtle’s coffee pot. She shot Myrtle a look when she came in.

Myrtle sighed. “Grab some coffee if it’ll help you stay on track, Puddin. I can’t invite these women over to my house with it being in such a state. Can you imagine Tippy Chambers here right now?”

Puddin squinted into the living room as if trying to picture the elegant woman in those surroundings. She shrugged and emptied the dregs of the coffee into Myrtle’s largest coffee cup.

“I’m surprised you didn’t make Dusty get you a coffee when he was there at the gas station getting his.”

Puddin shrugged again. “Gas station coffee is gross. It ain’t never fresh.”

“There you go with the double negatives again,” said Myrtle. “I’m starting to feel a pull toward returning to the classroom and teaching English again.”

Puddin said, “Kinda old for that, Miz Myrtle. Kids is different now.”

“I would argue with you, but I don’t have the time. I need you to leap into action now.”

Puddin, far from leaping, ambled into the living room to assess what needed to be done. Then she headed in the direction of Myrtle’s back hall where the vacuum cleaner lived in a small closet.

“If you dust first, then you can vacuum up all the dust you pushed off the tables,” said Myrtle in a knowledgeable manner.

There were growling noises coming from Puddin’s direction, but she did stomp back out and start dusting with a sad-looking cloth from her own collection of supplies.

Having motivated her staff, Myrtle retreated to her bedroom for a few minutes to make a phone call. If she made it from the living room, she’d be subjecting herself to Puddin gossiping about her call to everyone.

Her editor, Sloan Jones, picked up the phone. “Bradley Bugle,” he said.

“Sloan? It’s Myrtle Clover.”

Myrtle could hear his squeaking desk chair as Sloan likely straightened up to prepare for a conversation with his old English teacher.

“Miss Myrtle! What a pleasure. Are you calling me with your latest helpful hints column?”

Myrtle made a face. “No, I’m not,” she said with displeasure.

“Oh, that’s too bad. I’ve been meaning to let you know how much fan mail we got after your last column. It was a real hit.”

Myrtle said sourly, “I think it says something about our readership that they are so excited about cleaning tips.”

“Miss Myrtle, they were so excited. But why wouldn’t they be? They thought it was great that they could clean with a product they already had in their homes—cooking spray! Who’d have thought that you can use it to clean faucets, a bathtub, and stop doors from squeaking? They thought that was revolutionary.”

Myrtle said darkly, “Of course they would love that. The problem is, Sloan, that I’m wanting to aim much higher than cleaning tips. I want to cover a big story.”

When Sloan spoke again, he sounded rather anxious. “There’s nothing going on right now, Miss Myrtle. You know how Bradley is. Sometimes stuff is happening and sometimes it’s dead. Right now, it’s dead.”

“That means something is right on the verge of happening. It’s never dead here for very long. Believe me—I’ve been an observer of the news cycles here for many decades.”

Considering Myrtle was an octogenarian and a lifelong resident of Bradley, North Carolina, no one was going to dispute that. Sloan said hastily, “I’m sure you’re right. When there is a big story, you’ll get it.”

“The only problem is that I’m not inclined to wait. Waiting is the bane of my existence. How about, in the meantime, I cover the upcoming town hall meeting?”

Sloan now sounded even more agitated. “Unfortunately, that story is already spoken for. Angel Aames is writing it.”

“Angel Aames writes on a fourth grade reading level,” said Myrtle with a sniff. “And, remember, I’m a good friend of Tippy Chambers. In fact, I’m seeing Tippy later today for book club. Perhaps I could get some interesting quotes from her for the piece.” Tippy had been elected to town hall and was, in Myrtle’s view, an excellent community servant.

Sloan said, “I think it would be better if we got you to cover something else.”

Myrtle mulled this over for a second. “Maybe I could go on special assignment. I could be an undercover operative.”

Sloan was apparently surprised into silence by this idea.

Myrtle continued, “I could infiltrate Greener Pastures retirement home. That way, I’d be undercover and could get the scoop as to what really goes on there.”

Sloan said unhappily, “Miss Myrtle, Red has filled me in on your activities over there. I think it would be tough for you to be undercover. You appear to be a known entity at the home.”

Myrtle sighed. “Then we’re going to have to think on it, Sloan. Let’s just put it this way: until I get an important assignment, I’m going to hold the helpful hints column hostage. Now I’ve got to run. I need to make sure my yardman and housekeeper are doing what they’re supposed to. And, by the way, you need to replace Wanda’s phone.”

She rang off and hobbled as quickly as possible back into the living room. Puddin was staring idly out the window, apparently daydreaming.

“Puddin!” said Myrtle sternly. “Snap out of it. This house isn’t going to clean itself.”

Puddin, after jumping in surprise, said sullenly, “Ain’t we runnin’ out of time? When is that book club of yours?”

“We are not running out of time. You’re stalling. Book club starts in an hour. Considering the size of my house, that’s plenty of time to vacuum, clean the bathroom, and touch up the kitchen. Good grief, Puddin, it’s not rocket science. I’d do it myself if I weren’t extremely old.”

Puddin had been to book club in the past and had enjoyed the free food and beverages. She’d proved something of a hit with the ladies during the discussion section when she’d parroted some insights Myrtle had given her. Myrtle had absolutely no plans on reintroducing Puddin to the club.

Puddin slung her dust rag around a tabletop, narrowly missing one of Myrtle’s knickknacks. “What book are y’all reading?”

“The selection this month is Little Women,” said Myrtle, sitting down and picking up her unfinished crossword from earlier in the day.

“Huh,” said Puddin. She randomly ran her cloth around another surface, leaving a trail in the dust. “That’s a weird book.”

“Weird? What could possibly be weird about Louisa May Alcott?”

Puddin’s small eyes narrowed. “Who?”

“The author. She wasn’t exactly a weird person.”

Puddin said, “Sure she was. She wrote a book about short ladies. That’s kind of rude.”

Myrtle’s head started throbbing. “It’s not a book about—never mind. I believe this is yet another one of your stalling tactics. I know better than to get drawn into your foolishness. The next thing I’ll know, it’ll be time for the meeting to start and no cleaning will have taken place. I’m going to sit outside. Get Dusty to come find me when you’re done so I can pay you both.”

And with that, she retreated down to her dock overlooking the lake. The sun was glinting on the lake, birds were singing happily overhead, and Myrtle felt certain she should be able to completely relax in such an idyllic environment. That is, until she had the uncanny feeling someone was watching her.

She turned and saw Erma Sherman staring at her over the one section of the fence that didn’t have a bush in front of it.

Myrtle immediately called her out on it. “I’m trying to relax, Erma. Why am I suddenly such an object of fascination?”

Erma said in an important voice, “I’m your guardian angel, Myrtle. I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“Don’t.”

It was Myrtle’s best teaching voice—the one that had frozen high school students in their tracks. It appeared to have the desired effect on Erma, too.

“Gotcha. Quiet time, right? I’ll check in on you later,” said Erma before disappearing.

Myrtle sighed. That Red. The gnomes Dusty was pulling out were going to be out in the front yard a long, long time. All-in-all, the day had been most irritating so far. She could only hope book club would be better.