Myrtle Clover Mysteries Box Set 1

Chapter Three-3

It was clear when they walked in that Willow had been expecting them. She had bowls of covered tossed and pasta salads set out on the tables. Clearly, she was, at some level, anticipating their arrival. “Where is she?” asked Myrtle grumpily to Miles. “Really, this is carrying things too far. I know Willow is really New-Agey and everything, but not to be hostessing your own party is really too much. She could at least be asking us if we need tongs for the salad. Because, for heaven’s sake, we need some tongs for the salad!”

Miles was about to answer her back when Willow finally drifted into the room, carrying yet another feline. She wore another flowing garment to replace the one that the wine had spilled on. Myrtle was sure that if she ventured into Willow’s bedroom, that she would find an entire closet full of flowing, hippyesque garments. This one, at least, wasn’t as bright as the one she’d been wearing at Miles’s house.

Willow waved a vague hand. “Help yourselves, everyone.”

The phone rang and Willow picked up a cordless receiver. “Oh hi Paul. Now? Where is the van? How many cats is it? No, that’s fine, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She hung up and glanced around for her car keys until finding them on a table. Willow put the cat down on the table and floated to the front door with her keys.

“Willow?” Tippy asked with a hard edge to her politely cultured voice. “You’re not leaving your guests, are you?”

Willow said in a wispy voice, “Oh, yes, I need to. My friend trapped a whole colony of feral cats and was on his way to transport them to the clinic when his van broke down. I’ll have to help him out. Myrtle knows all about it,” she said. No Myrtle didn’t, thought Myrtle. And Myrtle didn’t want to.

Tippy looked nonplussed. “Right now? The cats have to be transported right now?” Myrtle had never heard such a shrill note in Tippy’s voice before.

Willow tilted her head to one side. “The cats will be frightened, Tippy. They’ll need to head over to the clinic for their spaying. Besides, the staff is waiting for them. And my friend is stranded, too.”

Tippy opened her mouth again but Willow had already slipped out of the door.

“Well for heaven’s sake,” said Myrtle crossly. This supper club had been a perfectly rotten idea. If they’d been drinking a nice glass of chardonnay and talking about Dickens, this never would have happened.

Tippy clicked her tongue. “I’m not sure your supper club plan was such a wonderful idea, Myrtle.” Several other members looked reproachfully at Myrtle.

“My—”

“Well, I guess there’s nothing left to be done but assume responsibility for the hostess duties.” Tippy immediately disappeared into the kitchen, and then returned with a pair of tongs. She manned the salad table and started helping plates. Myrtle scowled. She hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place, Miles was still off cleaning up the mess at his house, and now she was feeling guilty about a party that hadn’t been her idea to begin with. Then she sighed. Plus the fact she was supposed to be documenting the thing for Sloan’s blog. She desolately pulled out her cell phone and snapped off a few pictures, unenthusiastically.

Maybe it was time for a small drink. She hadn’t really imbibed at Miles’s house since there was so much competition over the restroom facilities. She looked around her. No drinks. Not only were there no alcoholic beverages, there was no water, no iced tea, and no lemonade. She’d have to completely abandon her idea of drinking a glass of wine. Clearly, Willow’s careful regard for her health extended to abstaining from alcohol. Darn her.

“Unforgiveable!” muttered Myrtle under her breath.

“There’s no tea,” murmured Tippy to Myrtle in a flat voice. Apparently, the dire lack of courtesy at Willow’s house had put her in a state of shock.

“I’ll see if there’s any in the fridge that we can use. Surely Willow made some,” said Myrtle.

“I can check,” said Tippy quickly.

“Now Tippy, I’m not going to fall and break my neck in Willow’s kitchen, I promise you.” Tippy’s overprotectiveness grated on Myrtle’s nerves. She leaned on her cane and thumped off to Willow’s kitchen.

It didn’t look anything like Myrtle’s own sunny, kitschy kitchen. Where Myrtle had red-checkered curtains, Willow had dark linen. Where Myrtle had natural light, Willow relied on lava lamps. And where Myrtle had candles for those rare candlelight suppers, Willow had incense. At least, thought Myrtle, Willow seemed to share Myrtle’s affinity for roosters in the kitchen. At least on her potholders. Although roosters didn’t seem to jive with the otherworldly theme of the décor, Myrtle thought as she rummaged through Willow’s refrigerator, which was stuffed with organic foods. Myrtle finally found, behind the tofu, cut up vegetables in zipper bags, and heads of broccoli and cabbage, a pitcher of iced tea shoved way in the back.

Everyone heaped their plates. At least the food looked decent, even if Willow had flaked out. Actually, thought Myrtle, all in all there seemed to be an overwhelming amount of drama going on. Blanche looked like she’d been run over by a truck, which was probably the strain of being around Jill. Even though she hadn’t noticed Jill in a while. Not since she left Miles’s house to go stir the barbeque. But Blanche could still be stressed out, just worried they were going to have a run in. Myrtle couldn’t imagine Jill starting something with Blanche at a supper club, though she had gotten into a fight with her own sister there.

Sherry had surfaced from wherever she’d been. She seemed to have even more eye makeup on and looked like the cat that’d eaten the canary. She was rumpled, keyed up, and laughing very loudly at something Blanche was saying. And Myrtle was pretty sure that Blanche was in no mood to be funny.

Miles was back, face flushed from his cleaning exertions. But he looked unhappy about being there.

Erma Sherman was in an uncharacteristically hushed mood and kept fingering the earlobe where the missing diamond earring used to reside. Myrtle was just relieved to have a break from Erma’s usual foolishness.

Much of the salad seemed to be falling onto the floor. The intoxication of many of Willow’s guests was likely to blame. Miles walked up to Myrtle and said, “I’m going to run back home for a few minutes. Just in case anyone is looking for me.”

“Must be your Type-A nature kicking in. Are you fretting over the red wine stains on your carpet?”

Miles shrugged a shoulder. “Just a little. Most of it fell on hardwoods, but I did pay a lot for those throw rugs. I’ll just run over there and press on the stains with some paper towels. I’ll be back before we go over to Jill’s house for the barbeque.”

Plenty of women noticed that Miles had left. The older, female population of Bradley paid close attention whenever there was a new, eligible, attractive, older man in town. They brought over their tastiest casseroles, being sure to say that it was so hard cooking for one person—could he please take the extra helpings? They dressed up in their prettiest dresses for book club and wore carefully-applied makeup. And Miles was still considered a newcomer. The way Bradley operated, he’d probably still be considered a newcomer ten years from now. His obituary would probably read “Miles Standish, a recent resident of Bradley, died ... .”

Erma grabbed Myrtle’s arm tightly. “Where is Miles, Myrtle? Where did he go?”

Myrtle shook her arm free in irritation. “He’s gone home to clean up the mess, Erma. He didn’t want the stains to set and he didn’t spend much time on stain removal before he came to Willow’s.”

“I’ve got to catch up with him,” said Erma breathlessly. “What if he forgets about my earring? He might throw it away with the trash!” She barreled out of the house.

Willow’s portion of the progressive dinner wasn’t nearly as lively as Miles’s. Time seemed to drag on and on. There was an audible sigh of relief from the group when Tippy announced it was time to head over to Jill’s house.

The guests were more muted this time as they walked. Myrtle felt worn out from the evening and everyone else was probably the same. In contrast to Willow’s house, Jill’s house was brightly lit both outside and inside. Tippy breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad we’re going to Jill’s,” she said. “I don’t like playing hostess at someone else’s house. And Jill is always so on top of things.”

“Jill will be more organized than her sister,” agreed Myrtle.

But Jill wasn’t on top of things enough to greet the party at the door, which was a bit of a surprise. Tippy cautiously opened the front door and peeped in. “Jill?” she asked. She hesitated. “Maybe she just had to run in the back for a minute. She is expecting us!” Tippy gave a forced laugh as the scenario at Willow’s house repeated itself.

The group walked quietly through the front door. Miles caught up with them from behind and gave Myrtle a questioning look. “Jill’s AWOL,” she said quietly.

“Jill?” called Tippy again. She wavered before calling, “Cullen?” Sherry, their next-door-neighbor, seemed to think that Cullen might need a louder summons. “Cullen!” she hollered.

Cullen walked in, looking hung-over. Or maybe still drunk, Myrtle wasn’t sure. He registered the large group of people at his door. “Oh, the supper club,” he said. Then, “Where’s Jill?”

“You tell us!” retorted Myrtle. What was wrong with this family? Had they never thrown a party before?

“Maybe she’s in the kitchen. She could have plugged in her headphones and not be able to hear us.”

“When she’s expecting company at any minute?” asked Tippy dubiously. Even Tippy’s ladylike manner was slipping after all the rudeness she’d observed over the evening.

“This,” said Myrtle in an aside to Tippy, “is exactly why we should give up on a supper club and return to the book club model. This would never happen if we were all eating cucumber sandwiches, drinking iced tea, and reading Pride and Prejudice.”

They opened the kitchen door and stopped short. They’d found Jill, all right. Lying on the floor with a puddle of blood under her head and a cast iron skillet lying next to her.