A Dash of Murder

Chapter One

Chapter One

“The Bradley Museum is hosting free tours today,” offered Miles, reading from his phone. “Apparently, there are to be ‘hands-on activities.”

“Been there, done that,” said Myrtle. “I was a docent at the museum, remember? I can give that spiel in my sleep.”

“Not that you would know, given how very little you sleep.”

“It seems to me, Miles, that you’re unfamiliar with the concept of sleeping, yourself,” said Myrtle with dignity. “After all, we’re both currently sitting out on my dock alongside my feral cat, watching the water and eating ice cream at three o’clock in the morning.”

Pasha, the feral cat in question, blinked at them as the dock gently bobbed.

The truth of this remark made Miles sigh. “Well, at least we’re able to enjoy being outside.”

“Exactly. I couldn’t stand another minute inside but the only time being outside is tolerable is in the middle of the night. I’m surprised more people aren’t doing outdoor activities right now. The football players at the high school should be practicing now. You know how late teens stay up. This would be the ideal time for football practice.”

Miles said wryly, “I doubt the coaches would agree. They’re not in their teens anymore.”

“Well, in the middle of an October heatwave, it would behoove them to rethink their antipathy to nocturnal practices.” Myrtle sniffed.

Miles resumed looking for local indoor activities on his phone. “The Women’s Club is hosting bingo tomorrow.”

“Pass.”

“It’s for charity,” said Miles.

Myrtle sighed. “That means we have to pay admission to go in. My budget is a little constrained this week. And I’m planning for us to go to the diner at least once.”

Miles raised his eyebrows. “Are you? I didn’t know that was part of the plan.”

“Well, I figured it would get us out of our houses and into another air-conditioned building. We’ll just have to drive over there since it’s too hot to walk.” Myrtle scowled at the lake. “It’s a pity we old folks don’t perspire anymore. My younger self wouldn’t think these temperatures were all that hot.”

“I don’t think you’re giving your younger self enough credit. This type of heat would be recognizable by anyone, perspiring or not.”

Myrtle said, “I suppose so. It’s just frustrating. Even worse, Red called me up yesterday evening and told me he wanted to have a conversation with me this morning.”

“That sounds ominous,” said Miles. “Usually he just comes over without prior notification.”

“Exactly. He lives directly across the street, after all. Scheduling a talk makes it sound as if he’s going to insert himself in my business once again.” Myrtle’s face darkened at the thought.

“Maybe he won’t this time. Maybe he needs to talk with you about Elaine’s birthday or something.”

“Elaine’s birthday is months away,” said Myrtle gloomily.

“Can you think what he might be wanting to speak with you about?”

Myrtle made a face. “I’ve been mulling over all the unsavory possibilities. He might be wanting to do a safety inspection—that’s a favorite of his.”

“Oh, like checking the smoke detectors and whatnot?”

Myrtle said, “It goes far beyond smoke detectors. He inspects my throw rugs to make sure they’re firmly taped to the floor. He makes sure there aren’t any slipping hazards in the bathroom. And he takes special care over the oven.”

Miles wisely didn’t comment on the oven. The poor appliance had seen its share of culinary calamities. “Is there anything else he might be wanting to talk about?”

“There’s always Red’s usual pitch for sending me to the Greener Pastures Retirement Home. He hasn’t tried that one in the last month or so. However, it would be unusual for him to focus an entire visit on it. He’s much more likely to slip the virtues of the retirement home into casual conversation. Red always thinks he’s being so subtle: ‘Mama, I know Puddin is getting on your nerves. If you went to Greener Pastures, you’d have housekeeping service every day. And cheerful housekeepers.’ Or: ‘Mama, don’t you look forward to the days when you don’t have to worry about yardwork? That’s one of the nice things about Greener Pastures.’”

Miles swallowed a bit of his ice cream and said thoughtfully, “That doesn’t sound very subtle to me.”

“Nor me. It’s just Red’s idea of subtlety. I suppose his career as a police chief hasn’t prepared him well for nuance.” She paused. “He could be coming by to complain about Elaine’s new hobby. He knows we’re allies when hobbies are involved.”

Miles shook his head. “That poor woman.”

“Yes. There are many areas Elaine excels in, but she unerringly seems to continue pursuing things she’s inept at.”

“What’s the hobby du jour?” asked Miles.

“I haven’t asked, although I’m certain I’ll find out soon. It’s about the time she’d try one again.”

Miles said thoughtfully, “You know, in some ways it’s sort of a hopeful gesture, isn’t it? The persistence of mankind’s faith in the face of failure?”

“Is it? I suppose it could be, if you’re determined to take an optimistic point of view toward it.”

Miles said, “Going back to the problem of acceptable activities, don’t you have garden club coming up? That’s something you can do that you usually enjoy.”

“Well, that’s true, although it’s fairly ironic that we would talk about doing outside work but then not be able to do it because of the heat. The nice thing is that Tippy is hosting it and she always does a nice job. She’ll have wonderful hors d’oevres and the program will run like a well-oiled machine. Unlike Erma’s attempt at hosting last month.” Myrtle shuddered. Erma was her obnoxious next-door neighbor.

“Book club should be coming up relatively soon, too,” offered Miles. He jumped as Pasha suddenly decided to leap into his lap.

Myrtle chuckled. “Sweet Pasha! She’s trying to be friends.”

Miles wasn’t at all sure that was Pasha’s intention. She peered directly into his face, seemingly interested by the glasses he wore. He pushed them up his nose nervously and Pasha watched with interest.

Myrtle added, “Book club won’t be coming up for a couple of weeks. I have yet to decide if I’m going to try to skim the insipid content of this particular pick. I’m not sure what Blanche was thinking when she picked this book. I’ll assume she was in a tremendous hurry and picked the first book she found at the library. The club would do a lot better if the members actually asked a librarian what they recommend.”

“Have you come up with a good idea for your pick?” asked Miles. “You’re not going to try to get anyone to read something too onerous again, are you?”

“This is a group that struggles with The Outsiders, so no. I’m toying with the idea of introducing them to some of the children’s classics for the next time I need to pick. Maybe Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm or Little Women or something.”

Miles carefully drew his head back a little from Pasha’s probing gaze. Pasha, in turn, leaned forward a little.

“Myrtle, I’m thinking it’s time I went inside and tried to sleep again. Pasha appears to have some sort of fixation with my glasses or my nose or something. I have the awful feeling she’s going to leap at my face.”

“The little darling! She’s so implacable, isn’t she? Sphinx-like. But you never what a feral animal might do next. They’re absolutely fascinating.”

“And worrisome,” said Miles. “Can you help me? I’m not sure I can move right now and I don’t want to startle her.”

“You most certainly shouldn’t startle her, Miles. That would be a very bad decision to make.”

Myrtle gently leaned to the side and cooed at Pasha until the black cat ceased her examination of Miles and looked questioningly at Myrtle. Then Myrtle reached out her hand and Pasha rubbed her head against it, lovingly.

Miles gave a sigh of relief as Myrtle carefully lifted Pasha and put her down softly on the dock.

They walked back up to Myrtle’s house with their empty ice cream bowls. Pasha followed for a few seconds before finding something that needed exploring in the bushes.

They loaded the dishes in the dishwasher and Miles yawned. “So later today? We were going to eat lunch and then watch Tomorrow’s Promise, weren’t we?”

“That is the plan. Then I can fill you in on whatever nefarious things Red has planned for me. I’ll see you around eleven.”

Myrtle woke up around six that morning and stared at her ceiling for a while. But she was wide awake, as usual, so she supposed she must have pieced together enough sleep somehow. She climbed out of bed, made herself some breakfast, and then took on the daily crossword puzzle in the newspaper.

When her doorbell rang at nine, she raised her eyebrows. This was not the appointed time that Red had suggested. But it was indeed Red as she found when she looked out the window.

She opened up the door to her son and said in a cheery voice, “Well, hi there. Come on in and get some coffee.”

“Sorry I’m not here when I said I was going to be. Jack isn’t a happy camper this morning and I thought heading your way might be the perfect excuse to run away.” Red headed into the kitchen and proceeded to fix a very large, sugary cup of coffee.

“Poor Jack. I bet his little teeth are bothering him again.” Myrtle believed her grandson could do no wrong.

“I’m not sure it’s teeth, Mama. He just woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Myrtle suspected that Red might have woken on precisely the wrong side of the bed, himself. His red and gray hair was rumpled as if he’d run his hands through it. And despite the freshly-pressed police uniform he wore, there was already evidence of a coffee stain.

Red settled down at the kitchen table and Myrtle joined him. She forced a grin at him, which made it look as though she was baring her teeth. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from you today, Red?”

Red gave his mother an earnest look. She was starting to distrust these looks of his. He’d apparently decided that his usual, brusque, heavy-handed approach wasn’t working and pulled another method out of his bag of tricks. He clearly wanted her to think that whatever he was about to suggest was in her own best interests.

“I’ve been thinking about your finances, Mama,” he started out, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Myrtle snorted. “I’m not sure my money situation can be elevated by referring to it as ‘finances.’ It’s not grand enough to qualify.”

Red chuckled. “Well, at any rate, there is income and there are expenses. Your state pension from teaching comes in and your social security check comes in.”

The fact that he was explaining something that Myrtle knew very well was annoying to her. She glowered at him.

Red continued. “Then you have your expenses—the utilities, food, and whatnot.”

Myrtle bared her teeth at him again.

“I was thinking that it would be a lot easier on you if we set everything up on automatic draft. That’s the way Elaine and I have ours set up. Our bills are paid automatically and the bank sends out the p*****t to the biller without us ever having to worry about it.”

Myrtle knit her brows. “I’m assuming this has something to do with the fact the power bill went unpaid last month.”

Red held out his hands as if to show he had nothing to hide. “Mama, it could happen to anyone. As I said, Elaine and I have our own bills set up that way so we won’t overlook anything. With Jack around, we’re always a little distracted and sleep-deprived. And I won’t even get started on how sleep-deprived you are.”

Myrtle said airily, “As I mentioned before, the power bill wasn’t paid because of an error on the utility’s behalf.”

“Uh-huh.” Red didn’t sound as if he believed this.

“Or, perhaps, an error by the post office. There have been incredible problems with them lately.”

Red said, “Regardless, this would solve that problem. Because I wasn’t crazy about the fact that they were threatening to cut your power off—their error or not.”

“Do you know what the problem with your scheme is?”

Red looked a bit surprised to have auto-payments referred to as a “scheme.” He shook his head.

“The problem is that I wouldn’t have control over when that money leaves my checking account. That idea makes me most unhappy.”

Red said, “But you can choose. You can choose what day the p*****t from the biller comes out as long as it’s not after the due date.”

“Yes, but then that date is set in stone with the company who’s pulling out the money, Red. I can’t change the p*****t date in a very agile way. Money isn’t a static thing, at least in my household. It ebbs and flows. An auto-draft doesn’t take into account the complexities of my pocketbook.”

Red took a large slug of his coffee. When he next spoke, the earnestness was replaced by his usual pushiness. “Mama, I don’t understand what’s so complex about your checking account. You were just arguing your money situation doesn’t qualify as finances.”

“Here’s an example, Red. I got one of my checks at the end of last week. But Emma-Jean Cantrell was taking a collection to help with a backpack drive for the less-fortunate kids in the area. So I had to make some adjustments because, as a former teacher, I like to donate to those types of causes. I gave Emma-Jean fifty dollars and I ate foods out of my freezer until the end of the week. Which wasn’t a terrible idea, because there were frozen foods that really needed to be defrosted and eaten. Plus, I paid my water bill in person at the end of the week when I got paid.”

Red rubbed his face. “You gave Emma-Jean Cantrell your grocery and water bill money?”

“Mostly groceries and partly water. But do you see what I’m saying?”

“I’m seeing,” said Red, “that you’re robbing Peter to pay Paul.”

“What you should be seeing,” said Myrtle in a censorious voice, “is that I have a handle on it. But I don’t need any auto-drafts added to the situation. It will create unadulterated chaos.”

Red looked as if he might have more to say on the subject, but he wisely took a sip of coffee instead. “Okay,” he said in a calming tone. “Well, moving on. What have you been doing to keep yourself busy these days?”

Red had experienced times in the past when his mother was bored. These were not, he’d decided, good times. When Myrtle was at loose ends, bad things tended to happen. She’d even orchestrated insurrections at the retirement home.

“Miles and I have been working on this problem,” said Myrtle with a sniff. “Unfortunately, the heatwave hasn’t been helping since we’re limited to indoor activities. The events Miles found were fairly pitiful. But this morning before you came, I found a class that I believe I’ll enroll in. It should be quite useful.”

“A class? That sounds like a good idea.” Red latched eagerly onto the idea of his mother safely tucked away in a classroom, under adult supervision. “Gardening? Computers?”

“I know how to use computers,” said Myrtle darkly. “That’s a terrible stereotype against seniors and one that’s not remotely true.”

Once again, Red appeared to have more to say on the subject of technology-illiterate seniors but was able to keep his thoughts to himself.

Myrtle continued, “I decided to sign up for a CPR class. Considering your obvious issues with hypertension, I thought it a prudent course of action.”

Red’s face turned exactly the shade of scarlet that made Myrtle think of the CPR class.

“You realize,” he said coldly, “that the whole reason I have a problem with high blood pressure is because of you.”

“Then I should be the one to help save you,” said Myrtle primly.

Red opened his mouth to discuss this further when his phone rang. He frowned and answered it. “Chief Clover.”