Chapter Three
The buck-toothed, one-eared bunny crack on the ceiling mocked Myrtle’s insomnia. Altar Guild had been the final straw. Myrtle glared at the rabbit. The gall of Red. And all the jokes he’d been making about farming her out to Greener Pastures Retirement Home. There was no way he was putting her out to pasture. Just because she drove him a little crazy—as if he hadn’t contributed to all her gray hairs when he was a teen.
Kicking the covers off, Myrtle pulled herself upright and padded into the kitchen for her obligatory nightcap of warm milk. There was no point in staying in bed with nothing to do but study that crack in the ceiling and mull over the way the overhead light fixture resembled a pug-nosed alien. She sat down at her kitchen table and schemed to solve the case bef
