Hushed Up

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The problem, thought Myrtle as she held herself stiffly in Erma Sherman’s car, was that Lillian lived too far away. She’d never thought that was a problem before, but now, heading out to join Miles, it was clear it was a problem of great import. She’d had to knock on Erma’s door since Red’s wife, Elaine, wasn’t home and Myrtle no longer owned a car.

The only good thing was Erma was unnaturally solemn and rather quiet as she drove her large boat of a car to Lillian’s house.

Myrtle reveled in the silence until Erma broke it, looking sideways at her. “Did Miles say what happened to Lillian?”

Myrtle shook her head. “No. He only said she was dead. He needed to call Red and let him know.”

Red would likely not look kindly on Myrtle’s presence there, but he would have to understand she needed to support Miles. And, naturally, find out exactly what was going on.

“Well, Lillian and I used to talk about her health problems. Did you know she and I had some of the same ones? Our stomachs and intestines were never right. I told her she should go see my gastro doctor. Did she listen, though? She never did! Because my insides always felt all twisted up inside until I started seeing Dr. Talveston.”

Myrtle hurriedly cut in. One of Erma’s favorite topics of conversation was her bowels and Myrtle did not have the stomach for it, today of all days. “I’m fairly certain Lillian’s sudden death wasn’t a result of her intestines.” Not, anyway, if Miles had been in such a rush to get off the phone with her to call Red.

Finally, Erma pulled up in front of Lillian’s house, which was already cordoned off with police tape. Miles appeared to be perched in the back of Red’s police car and looking rather pale. Myrtle saw Red spin around and roll his eyes when he saw his mother. He strode over to Erma’s car and hissed, “Mama, what are you doing here?”

Myrtle smiled complacently at him. “I’m here to help Miles, of course. It isn’t every day he comes face-to-face with tragedy.”

“You can help him a lot more if you meet him over at Bo’s Diner in about twenty minutes. I’m sure he’ll be ready to eat by then and he likely can use a little distraction. Plus, he seems completely exhausted.”

“He hasn’t slept for a while,” said Myrtle with a shrug.

“Oh, and give him a bottle of hand-sanitizer. He keeps wiping his hands on his trousers and saying he forgot his,” said Red.

Erma clambered out of her car and hurried around the hood to stand with Red. Red’s expression indicated he was not exactly pleased to see Erma there, either.

“Hi Red,” trilled Erma. “It’s a terrible tragedy, isn’t it?” But Erma couldn’t seem to wipe an excited smile off her face. “You know Lillian and I were friends. We saw each other all the time. So feel free to ask me any questions because I can answer them. You have a notebook, don’t you?”

Myrtle could always tell when Red was getting annoyed. That might be because it happened so often in her presence. A red flush rose from his neck. She suspected Red had high blood pressure, although he always brushed her off when she asked. Of course, he was always nosy about her medical visits, even though he never talked about his own. Which was completely unfair.

She had to hand it to him, though, he answered Erma very politely, although he seemed to be speaking through clenched teeth. “Do you know anything that’s directly related to Lillian’s death?”

Erma considered this. “Well, she had this terrible bout with her bowels. I always say you can tell a lot about a person’s overall health by their bowels.”

Red quickly interjected before Erma could go into excruciating detail, “Erma, Lillian’s death wasn’t a natural one. I’m afraid the state of her bowels had nothing to do with it.”

This made Erma gawk at him, open-mouthed. “Not natural? You mean, murder?” She now looked even more excited.

Red nodded, looking toward the road as if hoping for the cavalry to appear. Or, possibly, the state police. “When was the last time you spoke with Lillian?”

Erma hesitated and then became flustered. “Well, you see, we were such good friends that we didn’t have to speak to each other every day. We were simpatico, you know. We always picked right up where we left off.”

Myrtle rolled her eyes.

Erma pinched her face up in an effort to think. “Tuesday. I think we spoke on Tuesday. Yes! Actually, that’s exactly when we spoke. Because Lillian was upset about her!” She swung around, arm outstretched and pointed squarely at Myrtle.

Myrtle glared at Erma.

Red rubbed his face and spoke through his hands. “Mama, why was Lillian mad at you?”

“Does it even matter? I wasn’t mad at her, if that’s what you’re getting at. I had nothing to do with Lillian’s death. I simply thought her very, very silly,” said Myrtle with irritation.

Miles was watching with interest from the police car. Apparently, he started feeling steadier on his feet and slightly more awake because he stood and started in their direction.

Erma was getting even more keyed up. She raised her hand as if she were waiting to be called on in school. “I know! I know why she was mad at Myrtle. It was because of that psychic.”

Red closed his eyes. “Wanda?”

“That’s it! Wanda,” said Erma, pleased with herself for contributing something important. “Don’t you need to write that down in your notebook?”

Red ignored this, staring at his mother instead. “Please tell me Wanda isn’t involved in this.”

“Of course she’s not,” said Myrtle crossly as Miles joined them. “She was simply trying to be helpful. Which was a colossal waste of her time considering how Lillian received the information.”

Red said, “So Wanda spoke to Lillian?”

“Absolutely not! Wanda doesn’t make house calls. No, she relayed the information to me and I provided it to Lillian. And Lillian was heedless. Recklessly so.” Myrtle sniffed.

“What was this information?”

Myrtle said, “That she was in danger. And here she is, dead. Clearly, yet another accurate prediction from Wanda.”

Red absently reached up a hand to rub the side of his forehead as if it were throbbing.

“Why did Wanda think she was in danger? Did Wanda know Lillian?”

Myrtle snorted. “Wanda? Know a florist? No. She used her gifts, Red. And you know that’s not how The Sight works. Wanda didn’t have a reason for Lillian to be in danger. She simply knew she was.”

“That’s not how The Sight works,” mumbled Red, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to include Wanda in my report on this case. So Mama, you visited Lillian on Tuesday?”

“That’s right. I felt it was my duty to inform her,” said Myrtle primly.

“And she wasn’t receptive to this information?”

Miles hid a smile.

“Lillian was completely pigheaded about it! She showed me the door. Didn’t even offer me a glass of water and it was a very hot day,” said Myrtle indignantly.

Red raised his eyebrows. “So, at any rate, we know you were unhappy with Lillian Johnson.”

“As I said, I had nothing to do with her death,” said Myrtle sullenly.

Red looked up at the sound of cars approaching. “Looks like the state police are here. I’m going to need to talk to them briefly. Y’all are all excused.” He looked at Miles. “I was telling Mama earlier that you looked like you should head over to Bo’s Diner and get something to eat. You look a little peaked. You could meet Mama and Erma there.”

“You must be getting a commission for sending people over there,” grumbled Myrtle. The last thing she wanted was to spend lunch with Erma. But now she knew Lillian was murdered, it could be there was some actual information she might be able to provide. As difficult as that was to believe.

Miles said, “That might be a good idea. I didn’t have much breakfast. Myrtle, do you have any hand sanitizer I could borrow?”

Myrtle fished a bottle out of her huge purse and Miles looked much-relieved as he slathered some on his hands.

“I don’t think murder is catching, Miles,” said Myrtle with irritation. Then she suddenly stopped short, staring across the yard at a tall man with a short, military-style haircut who was unfolding himself from a police car. “It’s Lieutenant Perkins!”

Myrtle walked toward him. Miles said, “Myrtle, I think we were dismissed.”

“That was before I saw my old friend had arrived. I’m sure he’ll want to catch up.”

Miles looked more doubtful as he followed Myrtle at a distance. Erma had spotted a neighbor watching the proceedings with concern and was excitedly updating her while somehow making herself the star of the story at the same time.

Red spotted his mother’s determined approach and held up a hand. “Mama, we’re on official police business.”

“I know that,” she answered crisply. “Why else would Lt. Perkins be here? I merely want to say hello, that’s all.”

Red watched suspiciously as Myrtle greeted Lt. Perkins.

“It’s so good to see you again, Mrs. Clover,” said Perkins courteously. He looked as cool and unruffled as usual and, to Myrtle’s mind, was in stark contrast to Red who was getting decidedly flushed and bent out of shape.

“Well, I know it was good to say hi, Mama, but I need to speak with the lieutenant,” said Red quickly.

“Not before I invite him over to have a meal with me,” said Myrtle sweetly. “I’ve asked him before but things have been so crazy that we’ve only been able to meet at the diner. This time, I’d like to cook him a real meal.”

Red and Miles exchanged looks. Myrtle’s cooking was legendary, and not in a good way.

Red said, “And once again, Lt. Perkins finds himself very, very busy, Mama.”

Perkins smiled at Myrtle and for once his eyes actually crinkled up at the corners. “You know, I think I would enjoy a real, home-cooked meal.”

Myrtle beamed at him. “Well, I’m just as pleased as punch! Would you like to come over tonight? I’m sure I could whip something up.”

Red gave Perkins a meaningful look and said, “Actually, I think we’re still going to be hashing through this case tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning would be better, before he kicks off the day.”

Myrtle gave her son an annoyed look. “You understand this is a private breakfast, Red. It’s just me and Lt. Perkins. And maybe Miles,” she said, including her sidekick in a half-hearted manner.

Red looked up at the heavens as if seeking patience there. “That’s absolutely fine. I certainly don’t want to crash your breakfast party. I understand you’re only being difficult because I was upset at the revolt you led at Greener Pastures retirement home.”

A smile pulled at the lieutenant’s lips and Miles dissolved into one of his odd coughing fits again.

“You shouldn’t be so angry, Red. You know it does things to your blood pressure. Besides, it wasn’t a revolt at all. It was a perfectly peaceful march to the management. The only way a revolt figured into the equation at all was the food. It was revolting. They’ve changed their food vendor to save money and the poor inmates—”

“Residents,” said Red.

“The poor inmates have been eating like children every day. Who gives chicken tenders and fish sticks to octogenarians? Cheese dippers with marinara sauce? What kind of statement were they trying to make? The menu is condescending, I tell you,” said Myrtle.

Perkins said thoughtfully, “I think I did hear about some sort of uprising at the retirement home lately.”

Myrtle looked pleased. Sensing a more sympathetic audience she said, “The food is frequently served cold and that place is way too expensive for folks to have to eat cold fish sticks. The vegetables are weird, too.”

“Weird vegetables?” asked Miles, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.

“Yes. Beets. Beets, I tell you! What happened to good, old-fashioned broccoli or spinach? What’s wrong with those people?”

Red rolled his eyes. “Now, thanks to you, the residents’ rates will go up and they’ll switch food vendors. Problem solved.”

Perkins said smoothly, “Breakfast sounds lovely, Mrs. Clover. Is early all right?”

Myrtle gave him a big smile, “I frequently get up for the day at three a.m. Any time after that is fine.”

Perkins said, “Let’s make it seven-thirty.”

Red murmured, “And breakfast, fortunately, is a difficult meal to mess up.”