A Body in the Attic

Chapter One “You have to play by the rules,” said Miles coldly. Myrtle looked up from the chess board. “I thought I was playing by the rules.” Miles pushed his glasses up his nose and looked solemnly at her. “You know that you can’t move the rook like that.” “You mean the castle?” Myrtle peered down at the offending chess piece. “This is precisely why this game is ridiculous, Miles. A rook isn’t a castle. The piece should resemble a large crow, instead.” “Regardless, it doesn’t move like you just moved it.” Myrtle sighed and put the rook back where it came from. “We should be playing Scrabble. Scrabble makes sense.” “Chess makes sense. It just doesn’t make sense the way you play it. Besides, we agreed to take a break from Scrabble.” Myrtle glared at the chess board. “I didn’t actually agree to take a break from Scrabble. And I really don’t enjoy this game.” “Only because it’s not a word game. And because it’s occurring to you that you might not win,” said Miles. “There’s nothing wrong with being competitive. I can’t help it that I’m so good at Scrabble that no one wants to play with me.” Myrtle looked contrary. “I’ve told you that what you need to do is play Scrabble with your computer. The computer will always play with you and might actually have a chance to win,” said Miles. Myrtle shrugged. “I don’t think I would have the same sense of satisfaction at beating the computer.” She studied the chessboard for a moment and smoothly took Miles’s bishop. Miles frowned, leaning close to the board to study the move Myrtle just made. Then he sighed and took off his glasses, cleaning them with his pristine handkerchief. “You distracted me on purpose with the whole rook thing.” “I did no such thing. I simply pointed out that it was a silly name for the chess piece.” Miles gave her a suspicious look, as if Myrtle might be much better at chess than she was letting on. “Let’s take a break. We can pick the game up later.” They were playing in Miles’s living room. They’d discovered Myrtle’s house was dangerous for playing games in. Sometimes Myrtle’s feral cat Pasha decided to sit on the game board and knock pieces around. Sometimes Myrtle’s housekeeper Puddin would lackadaisically vacuum and destroy the board in the process. “Not only is it time for a break, it’s time for Tomorrow’s Promise. And it’s perfect timing. You’ve become obsessed with chess and we shouldn’t feed into your obsession.” Myrtle pushed her chair back and dropped into one of the armchairs facing Miles’s television. The soap opera, with all its unlikely storylines and overacting, was her favorite show and Miles’s guilty pleasure. “Not obsessed. Just interested. And I’m wanting to build my skills again since it’s been a while since I played.” “You’re so competitive, Miles!” Miles shook his head and turned on the television. “Not really. I just don’t want to embarrass myself completely against Darren. He knows I used to be in the chess club in high school.” Myrtle arched her eyebrows. “And how did he discover that fascinating tidbit of information?” Miles colored a little. “I might have mentioned it in a passing moment. It was a mistake. He annihilated me during our first couple of games together and I’m trying to ensure our next game is a little more competitive.” He frowned. “Where did the remote go?” “How inconvenient. How could you lose anything in a house this tidy?” Miles narrowed his eyes at his favorite armchair and spotted a bit of black plastic poking up from the side of the cushion. “There it is.” He pointed the errant remote at the television and frowned again as nothing happened. “It seems as if the world is conspiring to keep us from watching our soap,” said Myrtle in irritation. “Isn’t there a way to manually change the channel on this TV?” “If there is, I don’t know about it.” Miles adjusted his glasses again and studied the television. “For heaven’s sake: you were a computer programmer. Surely you can figure out your new television.” Myrtle stood up herself, giving the device a mistrustful look. “This is exactly why I keep my old television set from twenty years ago. It always allows me to watch shows and it has clearly marked buttons so I can change channels even if the remote is AWOL. And it sits perfectly on my little stand. This behemoth seems to have taken complete control here.” “I was an engineer,” said Miles through gritted teeth. “And the problem has to do with the remote being out of batteries. There’s nothing wrong with the television.” “There’s nothing right with it, either.” Myrtle plopped back down in her armchair. Miles pulled open a drawer in his desk and peered dolefully inside. “Out of batteries? I swear I bought some just a few weeks ago.” Myrtle shook her head. “I can see Tomorrow’s Promise is simply not meant to be.” “We can go to the store and buy batteries. You always need things from the store anyway. Or we can watch the show at your house.” Myrtle said, “At this point, we should concede defeat. I don’t want to interfere with fate. If we’re not supposed to watch our soap opera today, we should watch it tomorrow.” She clasped her hands in her lap and said, “What else is on the agenda?” Miles sat back down in the armchair next to her. “Nothing, really. We’ve played chess. We tried to watch our show. I suppose we could go for lunch at Bo’s Diner.” “But we had snacks during chess. I’m not a bit hungry yet.” Miles considered their quandary. It was a small town. The options were limited. “A walk? We haven’t taken a walk for a while.” “Erma is at home. She’s sure to foist herself on us and make us listen while she talks about her latest gruesome medical problem.” “She might be out running errands.” Miles stood up and cautiously opened his front door to look out. He made a face and sat back down again. Myrtle sighed. “I’m overdue for an Erma encounter and I don’t want to have it today. I think she’s staying inside and planning her attack.” Miles’s phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Oh, hi, Darren,” said Miles. Myrtle sighed. It would be most inconvenient if Darren wanted to play chess with Miles now. Chess wasn’t very interesting even as a participant. It would be much less interesting as an observer. “No, I’m not doing anything important now.” Myrtle rolled her eyes. “All right. Sure. I have Myrtle with me, is that okay?” Miles glanced over at Myrtle. “We’ll come over in a little bit. Thanks.” “I really hope that wasn’t an invitation to play chess with Darren,” said Myrtle. Miles shook his head. “Darren wanted to talk about something interesting in his attic. Something to do with old clippings and somebody named Liam. He asked if we could run by.” “Well, that does actually sound somewhat more intriguing than taking a walk with Erma, so let’s do it.” Myrtle stood up and frowned as she brushed a few errant popcorn bits off her slacks. “Did he say what he’d found? Is it more in the order of an old newspaper with steaks selling for 40 cents? Surely he didn’t discover another art find that needs to go to Antique Roadshow for evaluation?” “He didn’t say.” Miles picked up his keys from his desk and frowned at an envelope there. “Oh, no. I meant to put this in my mailbox this morning. Has the mail come already?” “Two hours ago, right on time,” said Myrtle. She kept track of things like that. If there was one thing she wasn’t a fan of, it was mail carriers or garbage collectors who didn’t come at their regularly scheduled time. Miles looked alarmed. “I really needed this to go out today. I’m paying a bill.” “Couldn’t you pay it online?” “Not without paying their service fee. And that really annoys me. I shouldn’t have to pay a fee for the pleasure of paying a bill.” Myrtle said, “Don’t be so agitated, Miles! We’ll simply go to the post office first and drop it in the box. Darren can wait for the few minutes it takes to do that. I doubt whatever he’s found in his attic is going to go anywhere in that amount of time.” “I suppose not,” said Miles slowly. “He did say he needed to make a phone call.” So they ran Miles’s post office errand. But then Myrtle pointed out they might as well get batteries for the remote since they were out already. They were accosted by a couple of people from Myrtle’s garden club who flirted with Miles while Myrtle glared at her watch. Finally, Miles drove to Darren’s house. They walked up the well-swept walkway to the front door and Miles knocked. No one came to the door. “Do you suppose he’s still in the attic?” asked Myrtle. “Perhaps he wanted you to walk right in.” Miles said uneasily, “That’s not usually how we do things. Ordinarily, he lets me in if we’re to play chess.” “But you’re not here to play chess. We’re here to discuss something he found in his attic. Maybe he’s waiting for you to let yourself in.” Myrtle tried the door and found it open as Miles shifted from foot to foot. Myrtle walked in. “Yoo-hoo! Darren? Miles and I are here.” It was very quiet inside the house. “I suppose we’ll have to look for the attic,” said Myrtle. “Do you know if it’s a nice sturdy staircase or one of those awful pull-down ladder things?” “No idea,” said Miles as he cautiously followed Myrtle in. “Usually I’m just focused on the chess game.” Myrtle walked further into the one-story home. Everything was very tidy inside, which impressed her. Aside from Miles, she felt men living alone tended to be rather messy. But Darren had everything in its place. Not only that, he actually apparently owned a label machine and drawers and baskets were carefully-labeled with their contents. “Darren?” called Myrtle as they looked for the attic stairs. They finally came across a pull-down ladder in the hall where the bedrooms were located. “Here we are,” said Myrtle. She gave the ladder a suspicious glare. “I’m not completely certain of my sure-footedness so I’ll let you have the honors. Perhaps Darren can bring whatever he’s found in his attic downstairs.” Miles was also looking askance at the ladder and still looking uneasy about entering Darren’s house without his express permission. “I suppose so.” He cautiously started up the creaky stairs. Miles cleared his throat. “Darren? It’s Miles.” When he reached the top of the stairs, he could see into the attic. “Oh no.” “What? What is it?” Miles turned and gave Myrtle a sick expression. “Darren is unconscious. Call 911.” He climbed into the attic and Myrtle could hear his footsteps as he hurried over to Darren.