Chapter Thirteen
Tippy sailed over, glancing at Myrtle with concern. “Is everything all right? You’re feeling all right? You’re not eating any of the food.” Tippy frowned thoughtfully at her carefully-arranged buffet of hors d’oeuvres as though analyzing whether something might be wrong with them.
“Everything is not fine,” said Myrtle firmly. “We’re facing a crisis in this town. I think you might be the only person to stop it.”
Now Tippy looked alarmed. And somewhat worried, as if Myrtle might have suffered a small stroke when she entered Tippy’s gracious home. “Whatever do you mean, Myrtle?”
“I mean that Royce Rollins is now dead, which clearly eliminates him from winning the town council seat. I’ve decided that perhaps the political life isn’t for me.” Myrtle decided not to say that
