Death Pays a Visit

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Myrtle and Miles stared at her again.

“Repeat that again, please,” said Miles slowly.

“Someone at the Home is a killer. But hasn’t killed anyone. Yet.” Wanda ate another cookie and watched their reactions.

Myrtle and Miles glanced at each other.

Myrtle said, “So Wanda, you know that there is someone at Greener Pastures who is planning to kill. So you’re wanting us to investigate?”

Wanda nodded.

“You can see that someone is going to kill, but you can’t see who the killer is? Because, obviously, knowing who it is would be very helpful.” Myrtle tried to be patient. Wanda could be so cryptic. But she was somehow always right.

“It don’t work that way,” said Wanda morosely.

“Doesn’t it?”

“No. It’s like the hiccups. The Sight shows up and then it goes. I saw the plan. I saw the victim—the woman. I don’t see the killer.” Wanda looked sad now.

Myrtle felt more cheerful, though. “Oh! Okay, a victim. Now that we can work with. We could get to know her and try to prevent the crime from happening.”

“What’s her name?” asked Miles. He reached into the drawer of the end table next to his recliner and pulled out a small notepad and sharpened pencil.

“Don’t know.” Wanda studied her shoes, which were looking pretty beat up. The walk likely hadn’t helped, either.

Myrtle rubbed her temples. Her head was starting to hurt. But it certainly wasn’t going to help things to snap at poor Wanda. She said slowly and carefully, choosing her words wisely, “I think I’m looking at this from the wrong angle. Wanda, why don’t you tell us what you do know?”

Wanda nodded again and stared at the floor. She spoke without the hint of any inflection in her voice, “They haven’t killed yet. But they will and will try to more than once. Justice must be meted out.”

Now Myrtle and Miles gaped at her. Because meted wasn’t a word they necessarily thought was in Wanda’s vocabulary. Where did these visions come from?

“Victim is a hard woman. Sharp tongue. She ... writes.” Wanda shrugged. “That’s all I know about her.”

“Writes ... books?” asked Miles.

“Writes letters? Poetry? Tweets on Twitter?” Myrtle felt her frustration rising.

Wanda shrugged again and ate another cookie.

“How do you know all this, Wanda?” asked Myrtle. “Did a vision just interrupt you at the breakfast table one day?”

Wanda gave her a reproachful look. “The Sight just shows up. I do have a cousin there at the home, though. Cleans there. Randy. He thinks something’s up, too. He dropped by to visit me yesterday and said so.”

Myrtle said, “Are you sure you need an investigator? It sounds as if a security guard who just stood around and looked ominous might be better.”

“Or maybe a bodyguard for the future victim?” asked Miles.

Wanda leveled them a look. “Y’all know how crazy it’d sound if Randy told them a psychic saw a death there? Greener Pastures’d just laugh and laugh.”

She did have a point.

Myrtle said thoughtfully, “Well, usually I investigate crimes that have already happened. That, you might say, is my forte. But under the circumstances, and considering who is doing the asking, I’ll go over to Greener Pastures and start poking around.” She took Miles’s notepad and pencil from him and thrust them at Wanda. “Here. Draw her. The future victim.”

Wanda squinted at the pencil mistrustfully. “Not so good with them things.”

“No writing necessary. Just a sketch,” said Myrtle in a bolstering-up type of voice.

Sadly, however, Wanda didn’t appear to be any better with drawing than she was with writing. The sketch that Myrtle received back from her could have represented anything from Marilyn Monroe to Santa Claus. She sighed.

Miles diplomatically decided that the verbal description would perhaps be best. He repeated, “So...a writer. A hard woman with a sharp tongue. Right?”

Wanda nodded. She drained the water, picked up and ate a cookie crumb that was miniscule and stood up. “Need to head back.”

At these words, there was a peal of thunder that shook the house.

“Well, you’re certainly not walking back in the freezing cold during a storm. I’ll get my keys.” Miles stood up.

“Wait just a minute and I’ll put some snacks and things in a bag,” said Myrtle briskly.

Of Miles’s food, of course. But Miles didn’t offer any objections.

She then threw a few apples, some flaky croissants, a few slices of glazed ham, and what appeared to be half a cheesecake into various plastic containers and into a grocery bag.

Wanda looked rather touched as she peered into the bag. “Thanks,” she said gruffly.

Miles said wryly, “Myrtle is a softy at heart, even though she sometimes seems a bit intimidating.”

“I’m really just a sweet, white-haired old lady,” said Myrtle with a shrug.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Miles.

Myrtle snapped her fingers. “The phone line. Wanda, how much is the bill to put you current?”

Wanda grimaced and muttered, “Probably one hundred twenty-five. Or more.”

Myrtle made a face and Miles put his hands up in the air in surrender. It was definitely more than either of them wanted to pay.

“How about stamps and envelopes?” asked Myrtle. “At least Wanda would be able to reach us the following day. Mail delivery is fairly reliable.”

Wanda looked alarmed, an expression one didn’t see often on her laconic face. “My writin’s not so good,” she muttered.

Myrtle waved her hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter! We’ll figure it out. Or you can just write visit me and we’ll know to run by. Okay?”

Wanda nodded, still looking anxious.

Miles walked over to his desk. He found some postcards and postcard stamps.

“Does anyone send postcards anymore?” asked Myrtle doubtfully. “Why wouldn’t you just send an email? And how old are those stamps? Will they still be enough to send a postcard?”

“I only recently got these,” said Miles stiffly. “They’ll be fine. And I rather like sending postcards.”

Myrtle rolled her eyes at Wanda. “He would.”

Miles opened the front door a little to peek out and the wind slammed it all the way into the wall. Rain blew at their faces as Miles struggled to push the door shut.

“Well.” Miles took a folded tissue out of his bathrobe pocket and dabbed at his wet face.

“Where did this storm come from?” grumbled Myrtle. “I don’t remember this being forecast.”

“We could check the weather on TV,” said Miles. “Maybe it’s about to move out of here.”

Wanda had already sat back down on the sofa and was working through the grocery bag of food.

Miles fiddled with the remote until he got the Weather Channel up. “This is actually one of my favorite stations,” he said. “I keep it on in the background during the day.”

“Exciting stuff,” said Myrtle dryly.

“It can be. There is absolutely frightening weather going on in this country at any given minute.” He paused as he studied the weather map. “And right now, it looks as if the frightening weather is moving through here.”

“Great.” Myrtle morosely squinted at the map. “And it looks as if it’s not going anywhere if that map is right. Wanda, can you foresee the weather for the next few hours?”

Wanda violently shook her head. “Weather is quirky.”

“Well, judging from the map there’s absolutely no way around it. No one needs to be driving in a raging storm. And I’m not making a run for it to get home. You’re going to have to host a sleepover party, Miles.” Myrtle tried unsuccessfully to keep a gleeful smile repressed.

Miles’s long face grew longer, if that were possible. “But Dan will be worried about Wanda. And we can’t even call him.”

Wanda finished chewing the cheesecake and said, “Naw! Dan don’t know where I am half the time, and don’t care, neither. He’s my brother, not my keeper.”

Myrtle said, “For heaven’s sake, Miles. It’s already after three in the morning. You won’t have company for very long. It’s not like it’s only eight p.m. and you’re trying to decide if we’re going to paint nails or play Truth or Dare.”

Miles looked deeply unhappy. “All right. Well, there’s the one guest bedroom with two twin beds. Or someone could take the sofa if they wanted.”

Myrtle said, “I’m pretty sure there’s a golden rule somewhere that octogenarians no longer have to consider sleeping on sofas. I’ll take a twin bed.” She looked over at Wanda. “I don’t snore.”

Wanda bit her lip and looked away. Myrtle sighed.

“I have ear plugs,” said Miles. “For when the neighborhood dogs bark. I’ll put them out here on the coffee table and make them available to anyone who needs them. We’re only talking about a few hours, anyway, as Myrtle said.”

“Do you need to dig out linens from the closet for us?” asked Myrtle.

“No, I keep the beds in there made up and ready to go in case I ever have company,” said Miles. “But I’ll pull out some towels and washcloths for you. Oh, and I have some individually-wrapped, brand-new toothbrushes and travel size toothpaste.”

Miles scurried away. “He’s so fastidious,” said Myrtle to Wanda. Wanda wasn’t really paying attention to Myrtle though and Myrtle noticed that Wanda was looking quite bemused at all the fussing over. But then, Wanda lived in a very dark, cluttered, hubcap-covered hut with her nutty brother off the rural highway. She might not have experienced this level of hospitality before. In fact, she may not have ever had the opportunity to even be an overnight guest somewhere before.

Miles quickly returned with a basket he’d apparently put together for his rare overnight guests. It included toothbrushes and travel-sized toothpaste, a shower cap, soap, and travel-sized bottles of shampoo, and mouthwash. He also carried two sets of fluffy towels. He flipped on the lights in the small bedroom, put his hands on his hips and looked around him with a critical eye. Finally he said, “I think it’s all set up. The last time the cleaning lady was in here, she dusted and vacuumed so it looks fairly tidy.”

“It’s immaculate compared to my guest bedroom,” drawled Myrtle. “I can’t ever get Puddin to clean in there. Puddin says she’s allergic to dust. Isn’t that convenient? A housekeeper with a dust allergy. The foolishness I have to put up with!”

Miles gave her a sympathetic look, having seen Puddin in action. Or rather, in inaction.

“All right,” he said. “Well, I guess we all should try to get a little sleep since it’ll be dawn before we know it.” There was another loud peal of thunder and Miles grimaced. “Or, perhaps there won’t be any dawn at all with the cloud cover out there.”

Miles retired to his bedroom, turning off lights in the living room as he went.

“All right, then! Bed for us.” Myrtle turned down the bedspread and saw, unsurprisingly, hospital corners on sheets that were perfectly unwrinkled and folded precisely down at the top. “Wow. Did Miles use a ruler to make up this bed? Or should I be kidnapping his cleaning lady?”

Wanda gave a tremendous yawn, shoved the sheets aside and lay on the bed. Her dark eyes glanced around the room. “Too clean in here,” she muttered. “Ain’t natural. Might not sleep.”

“Well, if we can’t sleep, which is a frequent affliction of mine, then maybe we can at least read. Let’s see what Miles has in the bedside table.” Myrtle reached over to the wooden table, painted a bright white, and curiously pulled the drawer out. There was a slim volume inside. Myrtle peered at the cover. “Essential Daily Devotions.” She opened the book and started leafing through the pages. “With marginalia, no less. In Miles’s own handwriting. Is Miles religious? I wouldn’t have thought so.”

Wanda didn’t appear at all interested in Myrtle’s fascinating discovery. “G-night,” she mumbled, turning her bony back on Myrtle and seeming to instantly fall asleep.

Myrtle sighed. It was discouraging to see that other people were able to fall asleep so effortlessly. It made her wonder, as she had so often in the past, what it would actually be like to fall asleep at night and wake the next morning with absolutely no recollection of the previous eight hours.

She returned the book to its drawer, turned off the light, and lay down, prepared to do her usual sheep counting or ceiling staring. But, to her amazement, she felt a strong drowsiness sweep over her until she fell abruptly into a deep sleep.